Ginger Lollipops
by Gypsy Rose2014
Summary: AU Gabriel-verse. Domestic bliss was a concept that was completely alien to Sherlock Holmes. But he was getting used to it. Of course, like most false senses of security, they're short-lived. Established Sherlolly. ParentLock!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I decided to have two "Gabriel-verse" stories going at once because apparently I'm an idiot. This story will be multi-chapter, so indulge me. It's about a year and a half after the events in "Small Boys and Sandwiches." Yes... I've succumbed to peer pressure...**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.**

Molly Hooper did not want to be at work today. Most days she strolled into the lab at St. Bartholomew's hospital like it was her own flat. Her home away from home. She greeted the test tubes, centrifuge and microscopes like old friends. But today the only place she wanted to be was curled up in the bed she shared with Sherlock at 221B Baker Street. It had begun around 5 a.m.. She was sleeping soundly, having wrapped herself in a cocoon of blankets that was wedged so tightly under Sherlock that she could barely move. At some point in the early morning hours, Gabriel had joined them and was clinging to his other side. A weird rumbling in the pit of her stomach forced her eyes open. She sat up as carefully as she could, trying not to jostle her boys. Her head spun and that rolling in her stomach only got worse as her eyes focused. A tightening in her jaw and that sensation of falling signaled that she was about to be very, very sick. She made it to the bath just in time to expel everything she'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours. As she knelt on the floor afterwards, pressing her cheek to the cool porcelain of the bowl, she could only think that she was so glad that Sherlock had not been awake to witness the ugly scene.

She hadn't thrown up anymore and there was no fever, so she'd come on to work, knowing that they were short staffed. She clutched her warm cup of tea, sipping it slowly and hoping it would calm the puny feeling. After all, she couldn't afford to be sick today. As soon as he got Gabriel out to school, Sherlock would be at the lab to help her with some tests she was running on a poison victim's stomach contents. Once that was done, assuming that the pathology intern came in, she was leaving early to do some baby shopping with Mary and then an early dinner with the men. It should have been a busy and exciting day, but right now all Molly wanted to do was sleep.

She pulled her coat off and tried to hang it on the hook by her office door, but she missed. The heavy coat fell to the floor in a heap of wool, and she considered picking it up. "Whatever," she sighed, flopping down in her desk chair and leaving the mess behind. She looked through the charts left on her desk by the overnight doctor. Two unidentified accident victims and a mysterious death in the Emergency awaited her this morning. She tried reading the charts but the notes swam together on the page until finally she closed their fronts and shoved them aside, laying her head on her desk. Immediately her mobile buzzed in her pocket. She told herself that she wasn't going to pick it up for anyone but Sherlock, but when Mary's picture appeared on the screen, she decided she'd better take it. "Hi, Mary," she sighed.

"Molly? You sound terrible."

"I'm fine. Just tired." She emphasized her statement with a yawn.

"Oooh… were we up late last night _detecting_?" Mary teased.

"Sadly, no. Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess. Maybe I'm just not used to sharing my bed with two other people."

"Two?"

"Yeah, Gabriel apparently got into bed with us in the middle of the night last night. He does that sometimes."

"Oh, nice. And of course if he keeps growing like a weed, you'll get pushed out. That's tallest six year old I've ever seen."

"Nearly seven. And he has to get taller to balance out his feet." Molly yawned again. "So what's up? I know you must have called for a reason."

"Oh! Yeah… you know John refuses to go with me to find a cot for the baby and soon it's going to be too late because the baby will be here. Are you still planning to go shop with me tonight?"

"Of course. Sherlock and John said they'd pick up Gabriel and meet us around seven." Suddenly, that feeling of nausea she'd had earlier came rushing back. "Uhm… Mary… I have to go…" And before she could hang up, she was heaving over the bin beside her desk. She could hear Mary shouting to her through the phone.

"Molly! Are you all right?"

After several moments, Molly was able to answer. "Uhm… no… not really. I think I must have some kind of virus."

"Perhaps we should put off our shopping and you should just go home."

"Yeah…" Molly slurred. "Maybe."

**OoOoOo**

"Molly!" Sherlock shouted as he bounded up the stairs and into the flat. When he got to the lab, expecting to see her and she wasn't there, he became very agitated. Nobody had told him that this sentiment thing also came with worry. A most unpleasant emotion. "Molly! Where are you?" He dashed down the hall and into the bedroom where he found her lying asleep on the bed. "Molly!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the bed and nudging her arm. "Are you okay?"

"What? Huh?" she murmured, trying desperately to awaken. "Sherlock?"

"Yes. Wake up! You aren't at the lab!"

"No shit…" she sighed. "I came home because I was sick. Why are you here?"

"Well… obviously I came to check on you." He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her forehead to gauge her temperature. "You don't seem to have any fever. They told me you were violently ill in your office."

"I'm not sure I'd call it violently, but it was pretty colors," she replied, letting him pull her into his arms and brush the stray hair off of her forehead. "And I'm so tired. It must be a virus or something."

"I think John's in the surgery today. Should I take you over?"

"No, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be fine by the morning, I'm sure. I don't feel nauseous anymore. I guess you'll just have to analyze stomach acid on your own."

Sherlock chuckled and hugged Molly tight. "Definitely not. I'm lost without my pathologist."

"You brought it home, didn't you?"

"Of course."

**OoOoOo**

Mary and Mrs. Hudson were holding on to one another, laughing like drains when John came in from work. "Can you imagine?"

John stood there watching them double over with laughter. For a moment he was afraid that his impressively pregnant wife was going to actually go into labor in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. "Did I miss something?" he asked finally.

"Mary… tell John… what you think is going on… with Molly…" Mrs. Hudson hiccupped.

"Going on with Molly? Did I miss something?"

"Well, you know how she's been so sick lately?"

"No. I hadn't noticed."

"You just tune me out, don't you?" Mary scolded. "I told you about that. How I was on the phone with her the other morning and she just hurled in the bin beside her desk?"

"Oh. Yeah, I remember now."

"Well anyway, she's also been really tired and irritable. She and another mom in the pickup line at Gabe's school had it out when she cut her off and nearly hit the car."

"Molly? Molly Hooper? She shouted at some kid's mum?"

"Told her off so good that even Sherlock would have been impressed," Mrs. Hudson said.

John nodded, then shrugged. He supposed he had noticed Molly being a little more irritated than usual. Of course, it was bound to happen. He had been more irritable when he lived with Sherlock. "Maybe she's just more stressed. Something at work?"

Mary and Mrs. Hudson looked at one another and then burst into laughter again. "We think she's pregnant!" they replied in unison. Soon John was laughing with them until they were all sitting at the kitchen table, heads down, cackling.

"Well you know," John began. "It wouldn't be unheard of. I mean, I've always said there was a lot of sex going on between those two. It's like they were saving up."

"But think about it…" Mrs. Hudson giggled. "Sherlock. With a baby!"

"Well, he's done pretty well with Gabriel."

"Yes, and Gabriel could already talk and walk and use the toilet," Mary said. "This one's going to be small. And it will be noisy and smelly."

John thought this over. "Maybe she just has the flu," he said hopefully.

**OoOoOo**

"Molly, can you help me with this?" Gabriel was hunched over his maths book, his nose crinkled and his lower lip poised between his teeth. Molly turned down the burner under the pasta and wiped her hands on her jeans. She knelt beside Gabriel and read the problem he'd been agonizing over. "I can't figure it out. The answer is already there. I don't get what they want me to do."

"Gabe, the problem isn't asking you for the answer. It's asking you how to solve it."

He turned and looked at Molly with an exasperated expression that was so Sherlock that Molly had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "That's stupid. If I already know the answer…"

"But they want to know how you would arrive at the answer." Gabriel looked unimpressed but wrote down an equation that would satisfy the problem. "I don't know why I have to do all this homework. Mary used to never make me do homework," he grumbled.

"That's because you were at home all the time. Besides, it's for practice," Molly said, turning back to the stove.

"I don't think I need any practice," he replied, his tone taking on an air of superiority that he'd picked up more and more lately. "Practice is boring."

Molly chuckled to herself and began breaking up ground beef into the skillet, browning it lightly to add to the spaghetti sauce. It had never been her favorite job, sticking her hands into raw meat. When she thought about it, it was kind of unusual that she would be even slightly repulsed given her profession, but the gooey, greasy sensation of the cold, bloody goop squishing between her fingers was not pleasant. The more she worked with the meat, the more aware she became of the coppery smell of the blood, so reminiscent of the aroma that would hang in the air at St. Bart's when a not-so-fresh body would come in. It wasn't rotten, but dead. A gamey, fleshy smell that was slowly overwhelming her. She put the back of her arm over her nose, trying to block out the smell of the meat as it sizzled in the pan.

"Are you okay, Molly?" Gabriel asked, looking up from his book.

"Yeah… just uhm… give me a second." She took a glass from the dish drainer and got herself some cool water from the refrigerator. It helped a little, tamping down the nausea that kept threatening to push through the back of her throat. She leaned against the counter, pressing the edge of the cold glass against her cheek, willing herself not to be sick. She heard the door open downstairs and the familiar heavy footsteps of Sherlock, John and Mary rumbling up the stairs.

Gabriel leapt from his chair, grabbing his paper and running to his father. "Hi, Dad!" he exclaimed, throwing himself against Sherlock. "Can you check my homework? I know I did it right, but the teacher said we had to let an adult look at it." Sherlock wobbled on his feet, unprepared as Gabriel began climbing him like a tree.

"I don't suppose you could give me a minute to get into the flat," Sherlock said, taking the paper that Gabriel was waving in front of his face.

"But I want to be finished," the little boy whined, somehow managing to work himself around so that he was hanging around Sherlock's neck, piggyback style.

"They look like a set of parasitic twins," John teased.

"Cute," Sherlock grumbled, letting Gabriel down carefully onto the chair as he ran through the figures Gabriel had worked out on the page. "Your handwriting is awful, Gabe."

"So's yours."

"Watch it." Sherlock finished checking the problems and handed the paper back to Gabriel. "They look fine to me."

"Hooray!" Gabriel shouted, running off toward his bedroom with Cat barking and running up the stairs after him. Sherlock flinched at the noise and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why does everyone have to be so loud?" he sighed. Molly didn't say a word, but placed a glass of water and two small tablets of paracetamol in front of him. No one seemed to notice that she had the collar of her jumper pulled up over her nose.

"It could be worse," Mary said. "You could have more than just Gabriel." She stole a glance at John and they began to laugh, much to the confusion of the others.

John and Sherlock chattered to Mary about the case they'd been on earlier. She listened and laughed at all the right places, being properly amazed at Sherlock's deductive skills. Molly could only pay attention to the assault on her senses as she finished up dinner. What was wrong with her? This was her favorite meal, partially because of the delightful conglomeration of spices, but tonight it was all she could do to keep from gagging over the stove. The cooking meat, the garlic, the oregano… it was awful.

After several minutes, Sherlock noticed that Molly was extremely quiet. He glanced up and saw her leaning heavily on the counter, holding her head. He rose from his place and sidled up behind her, winding his arms around her waist. "Hello," he purred against her ear. She smiled and leaned back, his strength a welcome comfort. "You're awfully domestic tonight."

"I didn't feel like going out. Besides, I am capable of taking care of us sometimes." She turned in his embrace and stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth. His grip tightened, pulling her against him and off her feet.

"You take much better care of me than I deserve, Molly Hooper."

"I know," she giggled, tucking her head into his shoulder. She loved to nuzzle into his neck and breathe him in. He smelled so clean and masculine with just a hint of tobacco. Just the whiff of his scent as she moved through the flat sometimes was enough to send her into a fevered frenzy of lust that would have her sending him urgent texts to hurry home.

But not today. Today the breathtaking scent of him seemed to sour. That earthy maleness turned putrid and before she could stop herself she was wriggling from his grasp and racing to the toilet.

"What the hell was that all about?"

John and Mary could only laugh knowingly.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's a new update! Hope you enjoy! Remember, reviews feed my muse! Thanks so much to those faithful readers (you know who you are) who keep me motivated. It's so nice to have a cheering section!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.**

"Just do it, already," Molly scolded herself as she stood in the bathroom stall clutching the small box.

"What was that?" Mary called from where she was perched in the lounge area of the ladies' room at Mothercare. "I think this pregnancy is affecting my hearing. I can't seem to hear John anymore either."

"You're just being selective," Molly mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing." She took a deep breath and sat down on the toilet, clutching the small stick in her hand. She had to do it. She had to do something. The suspense was killing her. She'd almost done the long version at work earlier, but just as she'd gotten the gumption to do it, Sherlock had come in. And he would definitely want to know why she was running a urinalysis. She didn't usually do those. Unless of course she was checking up on him at John's urging. And whatever this was, she didn't want to tell Sherlock about it just yet. She looked down at the test stick once more and sighed. She wanted to know, but then she was also terrified to know. What if she was…pregnant? Uggh… just the word incited a horror like nothing she'd ever known. Pregnant. With Sherlock's baby? She giggled a little, unable to hold it inside.

"Are you okay, Mols?"

"Yeah. I'm good." And what if she wasn't pregnant? What sort of ailment would cause her to be sick as a dog in the mornings, make everything (including her boyfriend) smell like ass, make her violently irritable and, the coup de gras, three weeks late with her period. Okay, Hooper, she said to herself. It's now or never. If you don't hurry up, Mary's going to burst in. She read the directions, slightly horrified by what she would have to do. "How am I supposed to aim my urine stream?" she muttered.

Five minutes later, Molly emerged from the stall. Zombiefied. She clutched the test stick in her hand, holding it out in front of her like Excalibur. "Molly? Are you okay? What's the matter?" Mary started to her feet, chuckling as her belly shifted her center of gravity, pushing her back into the chair.

"I'm… uhm… I…" She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind Mary. She looked as if she'd just seen a ghost. Finally she decided it was best just to show and shoved the test into Mary's hand. "Just… look."

"What the bloody—" She stopped, looking down at the stick and it's accusing red plus sign. "Oh my God! Molly! This is… This means…"

"Yes. Yes I know." Molly sank into the nearest chair before she fell into it. Her head felt light and floaty. In a moment she would either faint or throw up again. Perhaps both simultaneously.

Mary rushed her and flung her arms around her shoulders. "This is wonderful, Mols!"

"It is?"

"Of course it is, silly girl! Just think… you and Sherlock with a baby! Besides, you already have Gabriel. What's one more?"

"Are you insane? Gabe can walk, talk and use the toilet by himself! He'll complain if Sherlock forgets to feed him. He sleeps through the night! Babies don't do any of that stuff for themselves! We aren't even married!" Molly hid her face in her hands, trying very hard not to cry. She could hear her mother's voice screaming in her head. Something that sounded suspiciously like _"Why would he buy the cow if he's getting the milk for free?"_

"What difference does that make?"

"People are supposed to be married before they have kids aren't they?" Molly asked miserably.

"Well… sometimes, I suppose. But you don't have to. I mean, you've been living together for almost a year now."

"Because the lease was running out on my flat and I had to move somewhere."

"You could have renewed the lease."

"My landlord was a pig! The one time Sherlock met him, he deduced that he was breaking into my flat while I was at work and trying on my underwear!" Mary wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And besides, the rent was doubling."

"It doesn't matter. When your lease was running out, Sherlock asked you to move in. I think that's a pretty good sign of commitment."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "John lived there for years."

"Exactly. Do you know two people in a more committed relationship than Sherlock and John?" They stared at one another a moment before dissolving in girlish giggles. "And you never know, maybe the news will shock him into proposing."

"Or an aneurysm."

**OoOoOo**

"I thought John and Mary were meeting us for dinner," Sherlock said as they sat down at their usual table at Angelo's.

"Mary wasn't feeling well, so they decided to stay in. I was going to call Mrs. Hudson and Gabriel to meet us too, but I think Katie was with them. Besides, I uhm… I had something I needed to talk to you about." Molly chewed on her lip, not wanting to look him in the eye. She knew if she did, that he would know what she was going to say. If he hadn't figured it out already. Since they'd been living together, Sherlock had tried to keep unwanted deductions to himself. It didn't always work. Sometimes he slipped. Of course it was worse with Gabriel too. Sometimes she got the feeling that the two of them were conspiring against her.

"Oh?" he asked, looking over the menu. "What's that?"

"Uhm… well… I…"

"Don't stammer, Molly," he replied absently, laying the menu aside and staring at her with those bottomless blue eyes. "You're much more attractive when you assert yourself."

"I know…but… it's just that…I'm very nervous about telling you this. I mean, you know how you are."

"That's ridiculous. Why should you be nervous to tell me anything, Molly?"

Molly gave a bitter chuckle. "Really? Did you really just say that to me?"

"Well it's just silly."

"Remember last summer? The experiment that fell out the window? Or the time Gabriel and Katie popped popcorn in the electric wok all over the lounge? Or maybe when Mrs. Hudson lost that case file on the Greenwich Strangler?"

"She burned it up in the microwave!"

"You shouted so loud that you cracked the walls!" Molly exclaimed.

"Exaggeration," Sherlock replied, turning and giving their order to Angelo. "Anyway, go ahead and spit out whatever it is. Watching you tremble and stutter is physically painful." He leaned forward and rested his chin on the heel of his hand, his eyes boring into her. "You have my undivided attention."

Molly sighed and pushed her hair back, trying to relax. She wasn't sure why this was so difficult. This is Sherlock. The man who had been her friend for years before they started sleeping together. The same man whose death she'd helped fake. The same one she'd showered with this very morning. She trusted him implicitly, so why was this so daunting? "Well…" Oh dear God… what if he was angry? What if he walked out on her right here? What if he didn't believe it was his? Suddenly Molly had visions of being on one of those horrible daytime chat shows that the nurses watched on their breaks. _Sherlock Holmes, you are NOT the father! _"First, you have to promise not to get angry."

He sighed. "You know how I hate making that promise. Usually when people say 'don't get angry' it's something very hard not to get angry about."

"Well… just…" she looked away and chewed on her lip a little more. She took a generous gulp of the wine in front of her. _Fuck. I'm not supposed to drink,_ she thought. "Sherlock," she began. "Have you ever thought about…"

"A candle for a romantic—" Angelo interrupted. Molly grabbed his candle and threw it away. He stared down at her in disbelief, but followed the candle that was now slowly rolling across the dining room.

"Molly! That was a bit rude!" Sherlock said.

"There's the pot calling the kettle black," she mumbled. "Anyway…"

"You can't just throw flaming candles across crowded restaurants."

"Sherlock—"

"I mean Angelo's a loyal friend, but I don't think he'd be too keen if my girlfriend burned down his restaurant…"

"Sherlock-"

"Not to mention if you'd hit someone with it."

"Sherlock, I'm pregnant."

"Can you imagine the headlines? _Long Suffering Pathologist Finally Snaps in Trattoria_—" He stopped, his brain visibly catching up to her statement. "Wait. What?"

"I'm pregnant. With a baby. Yours."

Sherlock was paralyzed. For several minutes he just sat there, staring into space, not moving or speaking. People passed by, the waitress brought the food, even a traveling violinist swept past them, but still Sherlock was like a stone. Molly studied his face, looking for some sign that he had processed her words, but finding none. Perhaps this was one of those times when he thought he was talking, but no words were coming out. "Uhm… Sherlock?" she started. "Hello? Are you there?"

"So… what you're saying is… you're… pregnant?"

"Yes."

"With my child?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." He started to say more, his mouth open. Then he stopped. "How? I mean… how?"

Molly nearly laughed. "Well… sometimes when a boy and a girl really love one another…" she began.

"Cute," he said. "I mean, I know _how_ it happened. I just don't know… I mean, weren't you on those pills?"

"Remember when I had that sinus infection a while ago? The antibiotics… I forgot that they can make the birth control ineffective for a while… that must be when…" Molly sighed and looked down at the plate of pasta in front of her. The smell was nauseating and she pushed it away. "Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it now. What's done is done." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to not be angry.

Sherlock stood up, buttoning his jacket. Molly's heart sank. Here it is. He's going to run. She'd get back to Baker Street to find her stuff sitting on the stairs. She stood up to face him. "Sherlock…" She didn't have time to finish. Grabbing her hip, he pulled her against him, hugging her tightly and burying his face in her hair. "Oh… wow… you aren't…?"

"Of course not," he whispered, kissing the space just behind her ear. "Of course not, silly woman." He pulled back, looking into her eyes as both of them began to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's another update! I've noticed that these chapters are just a little shorter than some of my previous stories. I hope that's ok. Work has been pretty crazy the last few days, but I believe we're getting a snow day tomorrow! I picked up a new reader who was curious as to whether I'd be continuing "Small Boys and Sandwiches" and in answer to that question- of course! I love that story and I love Gabriel, so as long as I have ideas, I'll keep adding. This story was started on a lark after several people had asked me about a Sherlolly baby story. And I liked the idea of showing how the universe was progressing. Anywhoo... I hope you're enjoying both stories, as I am really enjoying writing them. It's quite a nice stress reliever for me. I look forward to your reviews!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Katie.**

There is a special circle of Hell. One where everything is decorated in pink and blue. Where the lighting is so bright that you have to squint, save for the one that flickers intermittently until you're seizing. Where tiny humans scream at volumes only surpassed by a star at the moment of supernova. It is called the OB/GYN Office. Molly and Sherlock sat side by side in the lobby, both of them looking miserable for entirely different reasons. She was nervous. Despite her profession, Molly had never liked doctors and the thought of the changes her body was about to go through was terrifying. And then they were making her fill out this long form of questions about her health that made her incredibly paranoid about what they might find wrong with her.

"Excess hair loss? What the Hell does that mean?" Molly mumbled, absently brushing her fingers through her ponytail.

"That should be self-explanatory," Sherlock replied. He was sitting extremely still, his eyes fixed on a point on the wall directly across from them. It was as if he was afraid that if he moved, some woman was going to throw up her dress and show him her vagina while a baby shot out of it like a bullet.

"Well my hair comes out all the time," she said. "Is it normal do you think?"

"Do you have a bald spot?"

"Well no."

"Then it's normal." He reached for a magazine, trying to look nonchalant. He opened it up and gasped. _Getting Your Groove Back: Beating Feminine Dryness After Pregnancy. _"Dear Lord…" he said, snapping it shut and throwing it back on the table.

"What is abnormal vaginal discharge?"

"I swear to God if you don't stop reading that aloud, I'm leaving."

Molly's head snapped up to stare at him. "Look, you helped get me into this situation. The least you can do is not be a child in the doctor's office!" He opened his mouth to protest, but Molly's dilated pupils and thin-lipped snarl made him think twice. "Now, there's questions you have to answer too."

"Me? Why do I have to answer questions? I'm not pregnant!"

"Yes you are! Just because you aren't carrying the baby inside you doesn't mean that you aren't just as responsible," she hissed. "Now… psychiatric problems…"

"I don't have any psychiatric problems!"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really! I'm perfectly sane."

"OCD… social anxiety… Aspberger's Syndrome… sociopathic tendencies…"

"Mycroft's the one with OCD!"

"ADHD…"

"You aren't writing all that down are you? None of those are diagnosed."

"Technically speaking, I'm a doctor and I'm diagnosing you," Molly said. "The good news is, Gabriel doesn't seem to have any of those so this kid has a fighting chance."

"Have I mentioned lately how much I miss mousey, timid Molly?"

Their sparring was interrupted by the nurse calling from the doorway. Molly stood up and gathered her coat and purse, and started toward the door. Then she realized Sherlock wasn't following. Whipping around she gritted her teeth and jerked her head in a gesture that clearly indicated he should follow.

The nurse led them to a tiny room where she had Molly stand on a scale and then sit so she could take a vial of blood and her blood pressure. "Goodness Ms. Hooper! Your veins do not like being poked at."

Sherlock bent over the nurse as she swabbed Molly's skin, thumping at the vein to make it pop up. "She has really delicate veins. You might have to use a smaller needle." The nurse narrowed her eyes. "Just a suggestion."

"Sherlock, don't be a pain," Molly said with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Come hold my hand. Blood makes me pass out."

"You're a pathologist."

"Just do it!" she shouted, making both Sherlock and the nurse jump. But he did as he was told. The nurse drew a little blood as Molly hid her face in the crook of Sherlock's arm. They made it through the blood pressure cuff, the embarrassing questions about her last menstruation and the announcement of her weight to all the passersby. Finally, they were led into a small room to wait for the doctor. "You'll want to change into a gown, Dr. Hooper," the nurse commented as she closed the door.

"Uggh… I hate these things," Molly sighed, pulling off her jumper. She carried on, stripping off her clothes and pulling the hospital gown on backwards. Sherlock was silent, appearing to read the poster about female anatomy on the wall behind him. "Hey, you don't have to look so uncomfortable. You've seen it all before."

"What? I'm not uncomfortable."

Molly giggled. "Yes you are. And it's okay. I know this isn't exactly your… division."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"You're terrified," she said. "It's okay, Sherlock. So am I." She put her clothes aside and went to him, wrapping her arms around his back and hugging him tight. "But everything will be fine. Right?"

"Why are you asking me?" he chuckled.

"Because," she said, looking up at him in all seriousness. "You're my Sherlock. You always know everything." She snuggled against him, drawing on his strength to keep it together. "But no matter what happens, I'm just… deliriously happy. You're happy aren't you? I mean, it's so hard to tell with you."

Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "Trust me. I'm happy."

"Do you think we were right? I mean, not to tell Gabriel until we'd been to see a doctor?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you think he'll be okay with it?"

"Uhmmmm…. No."

**OoOoOo **

Gabriel and Katie sat on the floor in his room, playing Turbo Chess. Months ago, Gabe had decided to teach his best friend to play chess, but she complained that it was too slow. That you had to think too much about it. So she and Gabe had come up with a new rule. They'd start a timer and see how long it would take them to play the whole game, trying to break their previous record. They could now complete a game in less than ten minutes.

"Checkmate!" Gabriel exclaimed, making bomb noises as his queen took her king. "I win again!" Katie sighed and kicked the chessboard as she leaned back against his bed. "What's the matter with you, Katie? You usually beat me at least once!"

"I don't want to play chess," she groused.

"Oh. Well we can play something else. I've got lots of games. Or we can take Cat for a walk. Or we can play Doctor Who, but I get to be the Doctor this time." Katie shook her head sadly. Gabe was perplexed. Katie was always so cheerful. It was part of what he liked so much about her. "What's the matter, Katie? You've been moping all afternoon."

She sighed. "My mom's pregnant. And she wants to move back to New York to be closer to my grandmother."

"What?" Gabriel exclaimed. "But… you can't move! You're my best friend!"

"Well I don't want to move!" Katie cried. "Especially not all the way across the ocean!" Soon both of them were sobbing and holding on to one another. After several minutes they broke apart sniffling. "You know, Gabe. You better be careful. Nothing good ever happens when your parents have a new baby. When my baby brother was born, I had to let him sleep in my room! He cries all the time and wets the bed! He always gets me in trouble! Now I'm stuck with him and they're having another. It's not fair!" She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Whatever you do, Gabe, don't let your dad and Doctor Molly have a baby."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: OK, so I'm apparently making up for the short chapters before with this one. It's long, but I think you'll like it. And hopefully it will keep you entertained while I'm trying to get the next chapter of "Sandwiches" done. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! They make me so excited! :)**

When Sherlock and Molly arrived home from their doctor appointment, they found Gabriel sniffling between Mary and John on the couch. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks were still glistening with drying tears and his expression was glum. They exchanged glances as they stared at the threesome on the sofa. Some sort of news program was on, but they weren't really watching it. Gabriel's homework lay strewn across the table, but it didn't look complete. Apparently there had been some kind of blow up over the course of the afternoon.

"Hello, everyone!" Molly chirped, pulling off her coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. "Don't you all look… despairing."

John smiled and ruffled Gabe's hair. "We got some disappointing news today," he said.

"Oh? What happened?" Molly asked, sinking into the unoccupied armchair. Gabriel wriggled from between them and went to Molly, climbing into her lap and sighing miserably. "Did you get into trouble at school today?"

"No," he replied, his tone taking on the low and dangerous timbre that Sherlock had when he was suffering though a bout of depressed boredom.

"Aaah… lovers' quarrel," Sherlock offered as he flipped the switch on the kettle. "What horrible thing has our Katie done?"

"Katie didn't do anything. She can't help it really, but I don't care. I'm mad!"

Molly brushed Gabriel's hair back from his forehead in an attempt to soothe him. She could feel the frustration radiating off of the little boy in waves of heat. Even the curls at the base of his skull were wet and stringy. "Well just calm down now and tell us what happened. Perhaps we can help."

"Nobody can help. Katie's mum is making her move back to America."

"Oh, Gabe!" Molly exclaimed, pulling him into a tight embrace as tiny tears rolled over his cheeks again. "I'm sorry. Why are they moving?"

He sniffled. "Katie's mum is going to have another baby and she wants to be closer to Katie's gram. So she can help take care of the baby."

"Well, babies need a lot of care," Mary said, absently running a hand over her own swollen belly. "But they're a lot of fun too."

"No they aren't! Katie says that when her little brother was born that he cried all the time and didn't sleep at night and he smelled. And now he's bigger and he can walk, so he messes up all her toys and gets her into trouble. Last week she got into trouble at school because he drew all over her homework with crayon. Babies suck!"

"Gabriel! Don't use that expression," Sherlock called from the kitchen.

"But Dad! They do!" He scrambled out of Molly's lap and over to where Sherlock was preparing two cups of tea. "If her mom wasn't having another baby, Katie would get to stay here in London! They mess everything up!"

"But I thought you told me a while back that you wouldn't mind having a little sister," Sherlock replied, chewing on the corner of his lip and trying desperately not to look suspicious as he cast a sideways glance toward Molly.

"I don't remember saying that. And if I did say that, I must have been crazy. I never want a little sister! Or a little brother for that matter! Besides, I like being the only kid. If we had a baby, you might like it more than me."

"That would never happen, Gabe," John said. "And there will be another baby. What about mine and Mary's baby?"

"That's different. It doesn't have to live here with me," he grumbled. "When I'm sick of it, it can go home."

"Don't hold anything back, Gabe. Tell us how you really feel," Mary joked. "Silly boy, everyone would love you just the same, no matter what. Love isn't like a cup of tea where there's only enough for one. You can't drink it all up."

"I don't care." He glowered and turned to Sherlock, pointing an accusing finger. "You and Molly just better not have any babies! I won't let one mess up my life."

Sherlock's eyes darkened and his jaw was tight. He didn't like anyone trying to tell him what to do. Least of all a nearly seven year old. He knelt in front of Gabe, speaking with as much patience as he could muster. "First off, you would do well to remember with whom you're speaking. I won't have a child telling me what I can or cannot do. Second, Katie's life is not _messed up_ by her mum and dad having another baby. They might have moved back to America no matter what. _Your_ life isn't ruined either. Just because she moves away doesn't mean she's dead. There's Skype and email and amazingly enough—even a plane that flies between here and New York. And you have lots of friends at school that you like almost as much."

"But not like Katie, Dad! She was my first friend!"

"Agreed, but it's hardly the end of the world."

Gabriel's lip trembled and he threw himself against his father, sobbing. "She's my favorite and I probably won't ever see her again!" Sherlock embraced the little boy, picking him up and shushing him gently as his tears wetted the shoulder of his jacket. He passed a cup of tea to Molly, then continued up the stairs with Gabriel, a hopeless look marring his normally confident countenance.

An hour later he returned sans Gabriel, looking exhausted. "Mols… I don't think we should tell Gabe about the baby tonight," he sighed, flopping on to the sofa dramatically.

She smiled, sitting down beside him and taking his head into her lap. "If not tonight, then when?" she asked, threading her fingertips through his hair.

"Just before we bring it home," he replied, closing his eyes.

"That bad eh?"

"Terrible. He's so upset, Molly. Apparently Katie's family is moving back to New York in the spring, assuming her father gets a new job. Of course, to Gabe they may as well be moving tomorrow." He sighed, letting her gently stroking fingers relax the tension of the day away. For a fleeting moment he wondered why on Earth he hadn't acquired a live-in girlfriend before. Molly had a way of quieting the raging thoughts that rocketed around in his head day and night. Her calm demeanor and simple wisdom often shocked him into perspective when nothing else would. "Wait. Where are John and Mary?" he asked, suddenly noticing they were gone.

"They went to pick up take away. Chinese. Is that okay?"

"Whatever. I'm not really hungry."

Molly giggled. "You never are. It's a wonder you have any strength."

"Anyway, Gabriel is inconsolable. He's convinced that Katie's new sibling is the root of all evil. I can only imagine what will happen when we tell him our little secret." He sighed once more, resting his hands against his forehead as if a swift chop might block out this new wrinkle in their situation.

"It will be all right," Molly said, leaning over and placing a light kiss on his forehead. "He'll either be happy or he'll throw a full on tantrum, both of which can be dealt with. I mean, what's the worst he could do, Sherlock? I don't think he's going to move out. I mean, he's not seven yet."

"Funny," he grumbled. "I just hate seeing him this way. Despite our own selfishness, he's very upset about Katie."

"I know. I remember the same thing happening to me when I was about his age. My best friend in the world was a little girl that lived down the block. Carrie was her name. Her dad was in the military. He was on a tour in the Middle East someplace and when he came home, he got transferred to another base. We always said we'd keep in touch, but…"

"But you lost touch, blah blah blah… I know."

"Rudeness!" Molly exclaimed, thumping his ear. "Anyway, that's a big loss for a kid. Hell, I can only imagine what would happen if John moved away. You'd stroke out the first day."

Sherlock sat up slightly, "Now whose being rude?"

Molly giggled and wound her fingertips into the messy curls at his temple. "But like most things with children, this will seem like the end of the world right now, but in time it won't seem so bad. Maybe Katie's mum will even change her mind. A lot can happen in a few months."

"Apparently so," he replied, cutting his eyes toward Molly's belly. "And by the way, how often do we have to go see that loathsome doctor?"

"She's a midwife."

"What's the difference?"

"An epidural," she replied. "And once a month. You don't have to go every time if you don't want to."

"I _don't_ want to. But I will. Not that I relish the idea of watching that woman manhandle you. God, she reminded me of this Russian secret police agent I met while I was dead. If the midwife thing doesn't work out, I think she could have a career in aggressive interrogation."

"Well if I had any national secrets, I'd talk," Molly sighed. "I almost asked her this afternoon if my tonsils were okay." He laughed and it was a most welcome sound to Molly's ears. She did not like when Sherlock was unsettled. It always made her feel like she was balancing on the edge of a dagger, staring out over a bottomless pit. "But it will be okay, won't it? The baby?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I dunno… just seems odd."

"We have Gabriel."

"Technically, _you_ have Gabriel. I mean, we aren't married or anything."

Sherlock opened one eye and stared. "What difference does that make?"

"Well… in a court…" she stammered. "I wouldn't have any claim to him, should you decide to kick me out."

"Why would I kick you out?"

"Well I don't know. Things happen."

"Molly, if I hadn't wanted you with me, I wouldn't have asked you to move in. I don't generally take back promises because they become inconvenient or difficult. It's one of my better qualities. So it doesn't make any difference whatever if we're married or not. For all intents and purposes you're Gabriel's mother just like you're this baby's mother. Two jobs at which you thoroughly excel. The truth of the matter is that I couldn't imagine my life without you in it, Molly Hooper. So in answer to your question, yes, everything will be okay."

Molly gazed down at her sleepy-eyed lover, leaning in to kiss his mouth softly. "You know, I think that's probably the first time you've ever said that you loved me with all of your clothes on."

"Don't let it go to your head." He sat up, cradling her head with one palm and pulling her in for a proper kiss. Their mouths moved slowly in perfect synchronicity. No matter how long they were together or how many times they had kissed, Sherlock never failed to steal her breath. She found that she could not just brush a chaste kiss across his lips. It simply was not possible. The more she kissed him the more she _wanted_ to kiss him. Moments of affection most often led to marathons of passion that didn't end until they were lying amongst a heap of discarded clothing, gasping against one another. It was actually a wonder that Molly had gone this long without being pregnant.

Reluctantly she pulled away, draping an arm around his neck and letting her forehead rest against his. "I'm going to have your baby, Mr. Holmes," she said, brushing her nose against his.

"What?"

They sat up fast to see Gabriel staring from the bottom of the stairs. "Oh hi, Gabe!" Molly said, trying to sound as chipper as possible. "John and Mary should be back with dinner just any second."

He stumbled down the bottom step and stalked toward them. His face was set in a stony expression, his eyes were icy slits and his lips a thin white line. "What did you say about a baby?"

Molly and Sherlock looked at one another, each one pleading with the other to speak first. Molly won. "You weren't really supposed to hear that."

"Why not?"

"Because we didn't want to tell you while you were so upset, but… since you overheard…" Molly took a deep breath and plastered a gigantic, fake smile on her face. "We're going to have a baby."

"Who is?" Gabriel asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We are. Your dad and me. And well, you too. I mean, it will be your baby brother or sister." Gabriel didn't say anything for a long time. He stood there in the kitchen, staring at them with that blank expression that Sherlock sometimes had. Perhaps he thought he was speaking. They could almost see the cogs turning in his little brain as he tried to think of something to say. Finally, Molly did what she always did. She kept talking. "We went to see the doctor today. We really found out last week, but we didn't want to tell you until we were sure. She says that it will come in July. A summer baby! Won't that be fun?"

"No!" Gabriel finally exclaimed, practically screaming. "No! No! No!" He accented each of his cries of protest with a heavy stomp of his foot. "I don't want a baby!"

"Well too bad!" Sherlock shouted back, standing up, prepared to face off with his son. "Because there's nothing to be done for it. It's coming and that's that!"

"Boys…" Molly started.

"You're so mean for doing this to me! It's not fair!"

"To you? Nothing has been done _to you_, Gabriel. It wasn't exactly planned!"

"I don't want a brother or sister! I like it being just me. You'll have another baby and then you won't even notice I'm around anymore because I won't be little and cute. It will be just like Katie's family!"

"That's ridiculous, Gabe. Like me, you have certain qualities which make you impossible to ignore."

"Just for the record, modesty is not one of those qualities," Molly mumbled.

"Molly and I won't love you any less."

"Yes you will. The baby will be _yours_! I'm only half yours. I'll be the _half_-brother. Only _half_ as good as the other one." His voice sounded watery and tense. He was going to cry and it was obvious that this fact was only making him angrier. "You'll get to see the baby get born and be little—I was already big when I came here! The baby will even have a middle name that you get to pick! So now my best friend is leaving me and nobody will like me best anymore!" And with that, Gabriel ran back up the stairs, slamming the door to his room so hard that the skull fell off the mantle.

"That went well."

**OoOoOo**

Gabriel lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd heard John and Mary come in a while before and their cheerful talking and laughter. They were all so happy. How could they be so happy when he was so miserable? No one had even bothered to come up and tell him that dinner was on the table. He supposed he should get used to it. Once their stupid baby got here, no one would even notice that he was missing. It would be all baby this and baby that. The baby is so cute! The baby is talking! The baby took two steps today! Sssh… the baby is sleeping! And Katie had told him all about how the oldest gets blamed for everything. He wondered how his Uncle felt about being an older brother. Suddenly he had an idea.

Gabriel slid down from his bed, patting Cat on the head and gesturing that she should stay. He crept down the hall, making sure to avoid the squeaky step. Everyone was in the lounge talking and watching telly, even his dad. His eyes scanned the room, making sure the coast was clear. He skirted past the stairs and down the hall to his dad and Molly's bedroom. Molly always left her mobile on the nightstand when she came home from work. As he slowly opened the door, he spied it right away, glistening in the light coming from the window. He swiped it quickly and shoved it deep into his pocket before bolting down the hall, around the corner and down the stairs. 221C was always empty and he knew where Mrs. Hudson kept the spare key.

Once inside, he pulled out Molly's mobile phone and turned it on. Unfortunately, it was password protected. Gabriel chewed his lip and closed his eyes, flipping through his Molly file. What would she use as her password? Not his dad's name—it was too long. Maybe Tobias, her cat that lived in Mrs. Hudson's flat (Tobias hated his dad)? He tried it and got an angry red screen for his trouble. The realization hit him so hard he gasped. Of course… Molly's dad's birthday. 04-09. He typed it into the touchpad and amazingly it worked. The screen opened up and he flipped through her contacts until he found the entry he needed: Holmes, Mycroft.

The phone only rang once before his uncle answered. "Doctor Hooper?" he answered without saying hello.

"No, Uncle Mycroft. It's Gabriel."

"Gabriel? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm well. Why are you calling from Doctor Hooper's mobile? Is everything all right?"

"Well… that depends on what you consider to be all right," Gabriel replied, trying to sound as grown up and dignified as possible. He needed his uncle to take him seriously. "I kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home."

"No… 221B does not, despite its many faults, have peeling wallpaper."

Gabriel whipped around. How did his uncle know that? "I'm in the empty flat. I didn't want anybody to know I was calling you."

"Well… out with it then. What is it that you need, Gabriel?"

"Do you think I could still go to one of those sleep away schools?"

"What? Why would you want to? I thought you liked living in London with your father and Doctor Hooper. That you liked your school."

"Well… I do, but…"

"But?"

"Dad and Doctor Molly are going to have a baby. And I don't want to be here when it gets here." He could feel the tremble bubbling up in his throat and he swallowed hard to keep it down.

"Oh really? When did this happen?"

"I overheard them talking earlier. They said it was coming in July. And… I don't want to be somebody's big brother! I like being the baby!"

Mycroft chuckled. "Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, Gabriel, but going away to school doesn't stop you from being someone's big brother. I should know."

"Then what should I do?" He sniffled. "I love my dad and Molly so much that I couldn't stand it if they loved that stupid baby more than me! I just don't want to have to watch. Maybe I could come live with you?"

Mycroft erupted in a coughing fit. When he could breathe again he replied, "You don't want to do that, Gabriel. Your father and Molly will not stop loving you just because they have another baby. And I'll tell you a little secret…"

"What's that?"

"A sibling is the best friend you'll ever have in your life. They make you absolutely bonkers at times and there are days when you'd like to have them imprisoned, but for the most part, no one will ever love you more. You'll fight and hurt one another, but as long as you have a sibling, you'll always have an ally. And as the older brother, it will be your job to take care of him or her. And he will worship you."

"You think so?"

"Trust me."

Gabriel thought this over for a moment, deciding that he should probably give the baby a chance. If his dad said it would be okay, then it would be. After all, his dad was Sherlock Holmes—the man who knew everything. "Thanks, Uncle Mycroft. But if I hate it… can I come stay with you?"

"Of course." Gabriel giggled, knowing that he would only say that if he was certain Gabriel would be fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Apparently I have a lot to say on this story this week. Weird, huh? Anyway, I thought it might be nice to reveal the sex of Baby Holmes... As always, reads and reviews are so appreciated! I'm so thankful for each one. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel.**

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon it was on the edge of summer. The hottest and earliest summer London had seen in twenty years, according to the news. Mid- June and already it was sweltering. Of course it would have to be. Molly hadn't suffered quite enough throughout her pregnancy. For a few months she'd been so sick that John had wanted to have her admitted to Bart's so they could feed her intravenously. They'd tried every sort of medicine for nausea they could think of, but none would offer her any relief. Finally, Mrs. Hudson had suggested ginger and despite Sherlock's admonitions about old wives' tales, it worked. Ginger tea, raw ginger root, ginger ale and ginger lollipops managed to satisfy the grumpy little baby that continually kept its mother ill. Now the nausea was gone, but poor Molly was possibly the most uncomfortable creature alive.

"It's really no wonder," Mrs. Hudson observed one evening as she brought up some dinner. "You're such a little thing, dear. It was bound to cause a little discomfort."

"A little?" Molly sighed. "I can't even sit on the sofa without my entire lower half going to sleep where the baby is laying on my spine." And sleeping was worse. Well, she called it sleeping. It was really more a marathon of running back and forth to the toilet for eight hours each night. If Sherlock ever slept, she'd feel pretty awful. Poor Gabriel, sick and restless one night, had gotten into bed with them, but quickly retreated back to his room when Molly awakened him the third time.

Of course, all the physical sensations weren't unpleasant. Her entire body was very sensitive to the touch. She wasn't sure if it was because her skin was stretched so taut or the hormones that raged within, but she couldn't seem to get enough physical affection from Sherlock. At first it was a welcome change. The first couple of months she'd felt monstrous, like some horrible blob that always felt sick to her stomach and was in a constant panic that her bladder wouldn't hold. She refused any sexual contact and often sent Sherlock to ice cold showers at two in the morning, but with the dawning of her second trimester and the tapering off of the nausea, Molly found that she was…well… not to put too fine a point on it… horny. To Sherlock's credit, he did his best to keep up. He continually told her how beautiful and desirable she was, regardless of the extreme physical changes her body had undergone. He didn't even complain when she attacked him one night while he was hunched over his microscope. Despite what others might think, it was hard for even Sherlock Holmes to ignore a very eager Molly on her knees under his desk. John began to notice that his friend was looking haggard. "Are you all right, mate?" John asked one day as they were examining a body. "You look a bit… worse for wear."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… usually you're so… put together." John noted that Sherlock was not wearing a suit. A pair of jeans, a button-up that was untucked and wrinkled and his hair was a mess. "You look like you just rolled out of bed."

"Please. Don't say bed to me."

"Pardon?"

Sherlock pocketed his magnifier and glanced over his shoulder, making sure that no one could hear them. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I guess…"

"Well, Mary… she just had a baby…"

"You noticed!" John chuckled. "Sorry… go on…"

"Was she really… uhm… well…" Sherlock stammered, clearly embarrassed to be discussing such a sensitive issue. "Aggressive?"

"Aggressive?"

"You know…_aggressive_."

Realization dawned on John and he immediately began to laugh. "Oh. Aggressive."

"It's not funny, John. Molly's all over me. All the time. Every time we're alone together."

"Well most people don't consider that a problem—"

"It's not necessarily a problem. Except that I haven't slept in days and I think I've strained something _vital_. I almost feel… used. Sometimes I wonder if I really even have to be awake. Not to mention… won't that hurt the baby?"

"What?"

"Think about it, John… that kid's lurking up there, minding its own business when suddenly it sees this… _thing_ coming towards it. I mean, that could scare the shit out of a kid!"

John didn't say anything else, merely walked away trying desperately to erase his memory.

Later, Sherlock was practically begging Lestrade for another case so that he could stay away from home just a little longer. Gabe had a violin lesson and would be staying at Katie's house after for dinner. He'd be alone in the flat until at least eight with Good Golly Miss Molly, and as much as he loved her and wanted to make love, he just didn't think he could bring himself to the challenge that night. He cursed his intellect at being able to close the case so quickly and finally went home around six-thirty. Molly was waiting at the door, her dressing gown only loosely tied to reveal her nude form beneath, a cup of tea in her hand. He took one sip before she was grabbing him by the scarf and pulling him toward the bedroom. "Molly… I'm so tired…" he whimpered.

"It's all right, darling. I'll take good care of you," she purred, pushing him flat on the bed and straddling his hips. He could only lay there helplessly as she pulled at the button on his jeans. She was kissing her way down the line of hair just beneath his navel when she felt it. The strangest sort of flutter she'd ever felt, deep within her belly. It was enough to distract her from the task at hand and she sat up with a giggle. "Oooh!" she exclaimed, feeling it again.

Sherlock opened his eyes and peered at her cautiously. "What?"

"I think…" She giggled once more and put her hand over the swell of her belly. "I think the baby's moving." She crawled up the bed beside him, leaning back against the pillows and taking his hand. "Here… you have to feel this." She placed his hand over her belly and nothing happened.

"I don't feel anything," he said, sitting up on the bed.

"Just wait!" she scolded. After several seconds with no more movement, Molly gave a heavy sigh. "Oh… I guess it stopped."

"Maybe it will…" His words trailed off as he felt the bubbly tickling roll across Molly's belly, under his hand.

Molly giggled, seeing his face. A look of complete and utter amazement. "I think the baby likes your voice."

"Oh…" he said, breathlessly. They'd spent the rest of the night sitting on the sofa, anxiously awaiting more movement. When Gabriel came in, they made him feel it too, all of them completely mesmerized until they fell asleep in a line on the sofa, their hands clasped on Molly's belly.

The only thing more irritating than the minor physical discomforts were the constant questions about the sex. Obstinacy was evidently a genetic trait that began in utero. At eighteen weeks, Molly, Sherlock and Gabriel went in for an ultrasound that would hopefully reveal the sex of the baby. All of them were brimming with excitement, though Sherlock kept a stoic expression. Of course, the constant bounce of his foot and the drumming of his fingertips against the armrest as they sat in the waiting room gave it away. The technician led them into the examination room where Molly climbed onto the table and let them spread that disgusting gel all over her belly. "I had a cup of strong tea before we came. The nurse said that might make the baby more active." It had worked. The baby was plenty active, a moving little blob in the middle of the black and white screen, but apparently very modest. The nurse waved her little wand all over Molly's belly, trying to get the baby to turn so that they could see the sex. But it was insistent, keeping its tiny legs clasped daintily.

They went home disappointed that day, angrily snapping at anyone who asked about it. Poor Katie, whose own mother was about to pop, made the mistake of asking what the baby's name would be and Gabe growled at her so that she insisted Mary drive her home early. It took two more tries, but finally, in a room full of friends, they managed to capture a perfect picture on the 3D ultrasound. Baby Holmes would be a girl.

"God help us, every one."

**OoOoOo**

"A name, Sherlock. The baby has to have a name," Molly complained. "The shower is tomorrow and I've only got three weeks to go. The baby needs a name." This had been the battle cry at 221B for the last month. They'd been poring over baby books and making lists, but between the three of them, they could not agree on a name for the little girl. Gabriel had offered Mary, Alexandra, Laura and, Molly's personal favorite, Skittles.

"I'm not calling my daughter Skittles," Molly grumbled.

"Why not? I think it's an awesome name," Gabriel replied. "She'd be named after the best candy there is. Maybe it will make her sweet."

"Maybe it will make her get beat up at school every day!" Sherlock said, feigning an excited smile and clapping his hands.

"You're right, _Sherlock_," Molly teased. Every name Sherlock liked had at least four syllables and too many consonants. Molly insisted that the child not be given a name that she'd never be able to pronounce. Nor would she accept anything that could be found on the Periodic Table. "Don't forget that she'll have to be able to spell it at school."

"But you can't name her something ordinary," Gabriel whined. "She's not going to be ordinary." Gabriel had, for some reason, become worried that his little sister would not be exceptional. The idea was ludicrous. Her father was a genius and her mother an accomplished pathologist. Gabriel himself had already been identified in his second year class at school as "gifted." What if she was an adorable little moron? "Delphinium."

"That's a flower, Gabriel," Sherlock said.

"You liked Mendelevium," Gabriel complained. "That's an element."

"It's unusual," Sherlock said."

"Both of you are ridiculous," Molly sighed and walked away, proclaiming the argument closed for the day.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So this chapter was getting longish, so I decided to break it in two pieces. Before I get ambushed- I promise "Sandwiches" is going to be updated this week! Probably more than once. I just felt some urgency on this story, so here you go. I hope its to your liking so far! Thanks to all of you wonderful readers and reviewers! You're making my winter so much brighter!**

On the day that Scarlett Johanna Adelaide Holmes was born there was a terrible storm. Kind of fitting if one thought about it. It began like any other. With a phone call from Lestrade. Sherlock's mobile rang over and over before Gabriel finally heard it and wandered downstairs. How odd that he had left it on the desk, but it wasn't exactly a shock. The last few days had been very trying for the little family. Molly was already a week past her due date and everyone was on edge and exhausted. When they finally got to bed at night, they slept like rocks.

"Hello?" Gabriel croaked.

"Gabriel?" Greg Lestrade's voice was practically shouting through the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you answering Sherlock's mobile?"

"It was ringing. He couldn't hear it because he's asleep," Gabe replied simply.

"Sherlock's asleep?"

"Yeah. He and Molly were really tired. See, Molly can't sleep because the baby is going to come soon. I could still hear them talking at three this morning when I got up to use the toilet. They're also trying to get the nursery finished."

"I see."

"Do you need me to wake him up?"

"Sadly, yes. I hate to ask, but I really need him today. Could you get him for me?"

"Sure. Hold on." Gabriel laid the phone down and padded down the hall to where Sherlock and Molly were sleeping. His father lay propped up on many pillows so that he was practically sitting up in the bed, but his eyes were closed and his even breath revealed that he was actually sleeping. Molly was curled around him, her head on his chest and her leg thrown over his. They had slept most nights this way for the last month. Apparently this was the only way Molly could have some semblance of comfort. "Dad…" Gabriel whispered, nudging Sherlock's bare shoulder gently. "Dad, wake up!"

"Hmm?" he answered, still asleep.

"Wake up. It's Greg on the phone for you."

"I don't know anyone named Greg…" he murmured , turning toward Molly and snuggling down again.

"Dad! It's Lestrade. He needs you on the phone."

Sherlock whined, disentangling himself from Molly and stretching. He took the mobile from Gabriel and yawned. "What?" he growled into it.

"Sherlock… are you all right?"

"I'm asleep. Or I was. What do you want?"

"I need you to come down."

Sherlock threw the covers back and stepped onto the floor, ruffling Gabriel's hair as he made his way across the room to pull on a shirt. "I can't. Molly could go into labor any second. She's already a week late."

"I know. I hate to ask you, but… I'm desperate."

"You're always desperate."

"Go." Sherlock looked up where Molly had awakened, staring out through bleary brown eyes. Gabriel crawled into the warm space on the bed left by Sherlock and snuggled against her. "We'll be fine."

"Hold on," he muttered into the phone. "Molly, I don't want to leave you. The doctor said you could have the baby any time."

"He's been saying that for weeks," she said, stroking Gabriel's hair as he fell back to sleep. "I feel fine for now. Just go and hurry back. Gabe will be here with me and I'm sure that Mary will come over with the baby if you're planning to take John. We'll be fine."

"But…"

"Look, I'd rather have you here after the baby comes. Go ahead and play with the other boys." She winked, settling back against the pillows.

"Fine. I'll see if Mrs. Hudson can come up and sit with you for a bit." He couldn't help feeling slightly relieved at the promise of getting out of the house. He didn't want Molly to think that he'd prefer to be out chasing criminals, but it would be a blessing to be able to block out all of his anxiety about the impending birth for just a while. She was insisting that he be in the room with her as she gave birth to their little girl, but Sherlock wasn't sure he was up to it. It wasn't the blood or the baby itself that frightened him. Intellectually he knew that childbirth was extremely painful for the mother and he wasn't sure he could watch Molly go through that. He loved her so much that the thought of her being hurt—even by his own offspring—was almost unbearable. "Text me the address," he said to Lestrade, going into the wardrobe for his clothes. "This better be quick. And it better be at least a nine."

Molly and Gabriel dozed as Sherlock showered and got dressed. He brushed kisses across their brows as he prepared to leave and Molly opened her eyes. "Please be careful today," she whispered.

"I'm always careful," he replied.

"No, you really aren't. Is John going too?"

"Of course."

"Good. Stay with him."

**OoOoOo**

Sherlock leaned over the corpse that hung limply on the strange apparatus. From where he perched on the ladder, he practically had to hold onto the body itself for leverage. John and Lestrade stood at the bottom, staring expectantly up at him, like usual. Apparently they couldn't have a thought without him telling them. The body of a young male hung from what looked like a large hoop with crossbars. The man was naked, save for an odd metal and leather harness strapped around his torso and a blindfold. His pale skin was also peppered with scars and welts, some of them old, others new. Sherlock used his magnifier to look at the blackened fingernails of the corpse.

"Anything?" Lestrade called from the vicinity of his feet. "We need to get him out of here as quickly as possible. The media will have a grand time if this gets out." The inspector's urgency was fueled by the fact that the young man hanging from the cross was a prominent London businessman's son. One of those loathsome "famous for being famous" types. He frequently made the papers misbehaving with his band of poor little rich boys. If word of his death got out, the crime scene would be crawling with reporters.

John sighed, looking down at his watch. "Death by misadventure right? I mean… look at him."

"It would seem so," Sherlock began.

"Oh good. We can go then."

"But not likely. Whoever killed him wants you to think it was accidental." He slid down the ladder, pocketing his magnifier. First off, what killed him?"

"Well… isn't this sort of thing usually asphyxia?" Lestrade asked, trying desperately not to look at the body. He was clearly uncomfortable with the implied circumstances of the murder.

"Usually. But do you see any signs that he was strangled? There's nothing around his neck. Not even any marks. I looked in his mouth and there wasn't anything there either. So obviously he wasn't strangled."

"Unless," John started. "Unless he was given some kind of drug. That can cause suffocation like that. But you'll need a post-mortem to be sure." Sherlock nodded and moved the ladder, letting the forensics crew by so that they could begin pulling the corpse down and transporting it to the morgue.

"Was it murder, do you think?" Lestrade pressed. Sherlock replied with a grunt and pulled his mobile from his coat. He flipped through the message screen quickly, not paying any attention whatever to them. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, yes! Murder. Whatever. Maybe a scorned lover."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look at how he was found. Strapped to a St. Andrews Cross, completely naked with obvious signs of sex games. The murderer wanted to be sure we found him like this. He or she wanted to humiliate him. Look at the dust on the floor. He was dragged in here and hung up."

"Could a woman do that?"

"With help."

"So we're looking for two?" Sherlock nodded, still engrossed in his phone, and wandered out.

Lestrade looked at John, giving him a helpless shrug. "Is that it?"

"He's a little distracted. You can hardly blame him." John shrugged and sprinted down the stairs to catch up with his friend. When he reached the sidewalk, Sherlock was already hailing a cab. "Hey… are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Look, its okay to be worried about Molly."

"I'm not worried."

"Yes you are."

"Why would I be? Mary and Mrs. Hudson and Gabriel are with her. She'll be fine." The cab screeched to a halt in front of them. Without another word, Sherlock climbed into it, barking directions to the cabbie. His eyes never left his mobile.

**OoOoOo**

The rumble of thunder jerked Molly awake. She was still lying in bed, the morning sun dimmed by the cloud cover. Gabriel made soft noises as he slept on, not bothered by the thunder or the sudden movement just yet. She looked down at his face and smiled. Though his cheeks still had the roundness of a young child, he was beginning to take on more of Sherlock's angular features and it made Molly smile to herself. She could hear Mrs. Hudson and Mary moving around in the other room, and then the gurgling giggled of John and Mary's baby, Isabel. It was time to get up.

"Gabriel," she whispered, kissing the little boy's temple. "Wake up, little one." He groaned and rolled over, trying to avoid the bright light of day. "Aww… come on, Gabe. It's time to wake up." She kissed his forehead and his cheeks until he was growling playfully. "Such a growly bear."

"Nooo… I want to stay asleep."

"But I think Mrs. Hudson has breakfast out there. Tea and toast with jam… your favorite." She laughed as he threw the covers back and stretched. "You're growing out of your pajamas, Gabriel." She pointed out how his feet and ankles stuck way far out of the ends of his trousers. "We'll have to get you more."

"But I like my skully pajamas," he whined, snuggling against Molly.

"I've noticed. I think you've had them since you moved in haven't you?"

"I got them like… the second day I was here. But I'm wiry. They'll fit."

"They'll be shorts soon," she giggled, pinching his shoulder.

Gabriel yawned once more. "Molly… do you think the baby will come today?"

"I don't know, sweetie."

He nodded and sighed. Molly could tell that there was something burning in his brain. She could almost see the little cogs turning and whirring around as he thought of how to say what it was he wanted. "Molly, when the baby comes, do you think she'll like me?"

"She'll adore you, Gabe! You'll be her hero."

"You think so?"

"I guarantee it. You'll get to teach her how to do everything. She'll want to follow you around and she'll ask you a million questions. Whenever she gets into trouble, it won't be your dad or me that she goes to first for help… it will be you. And you'll have to take care of her." Molly squeezed him tight. "You'll be an excellent big brother, I'm sure."

"I'm not so sure."

"Of course you will! You're a pretty amazing little boy. How could you not be an amazing brother?"

"How will she even know that I'm her brother? What if she looks like you instead of dad? She might not even recognize me!"

Molly giggled. "Well, I'm sure that she'll catch on when you live here with her all the time." She realized that he still looked serious. Evidently her answers were not doing much to assuage him. There was more. "Why so glum? You don't look happy about having a baby sister."

He chewed on his lip, looking for the right words. "Well… I'll be the odd one, you know. The one that doesn't know who my mum is. I'll just be her half-brother. Won't she think it's weird when I call you Molly? And what if you and Dad get married? Then it will be really weird. I'll be nobody."

"Gabriel! You could never be nobody." She kissed his forehead once more and took his little hand in hers. "You know, you're just as much my child as this one," she said, patting her belly. "I can't imagine not having you around."

Gabriel smiled and threw his arms around Molly's neck, "I do love you, Molly."

"I love you more, Gabe," she replied, scooting to the edge of the bed, trying to get up with as little discomfort as possible. The baby was evidently awake and kicked her firmly in the ribs. "Oof… well good morning, baby," she giggled.

Gabriel helped her up, cooing at his little sister while bent close to Molly's bellybutton. "You shouldn't kick mummy so hard." Once she was on her feet, he started toward the bathroom. Then he stopped and turned. "Molly?"

"Yes, Gabriel?"

"I think I'm going to call you mum from now on. You know… just so the baby won't be confused."

Molly blushed and nodded. She could feel the tears burning the corners of her eyes, but she didn't want to seem mushy about the whole thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So here's the next chapter! I hope you like it. I promised that we would have a baby in this chapter in so we shall. Warning: extreme fluffiness! Thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing! Please continue- it feeds my muse. So whataya think- end this one and start a new one that continues or just keep it all in this story...**

"I hope our baby is going to be more fun than Isabel," Gabe grumbled as he stared into the moses basket where Baby Watson slept. "She doesn't do anything."

Mary giggled. "Well what would you have her do? She's only seven months old."

Gabriel shrugged. He looked around at the room that they had been working on for months. It was almost ready for his little sister. It was the room he'd first lived in when he came to Baker Street and it looked so different now. The walls that had been painted purple for him were now a light, girlish pink, save for one wall that had the same black and white wallpaper that was behind the sofa in the living room. A dark wooden cot that looked like a sleigh had been assembled in the corner with a mobile hanging over it. There was also a changing table and an enormous rocking chair. "What do we have a nursery for anyway? I thought the baby was going to sleep in the room with you and dad."

"She will when she's first born, but we'll move her up here as soon as she's big enough." Molly was sitting on the floor folding tiny clothes which she handed to Mary to place in the wardrobe. She didn't want to tell anyone, but she wasn't feeling very well this morning. Everyone was already treating her like an invalid. Last week she'd had some contractions and ever since everyone had been treating her like she was made of glass. She had planned to work up until she went into labor, but after that little episode, Sherlock had insisted that she take her leave. _"You will not give birth to our baby girl on a gurney next to a corpse!" _

"Have you packed your bag yet?" Mary asked.

"Are you kidding? Sherlock packed it a month ago." Molly grinned. "He's really very cute about the whole thing. Most of the time he's still the same sociopath we all know and love, but every now and then… he can be so sweet. I still don't know how all this happened."

"This?"

Molly gestured around them. "This. All of this. I blame Gabriel."

"Me?" Gabriel gasped. "What did I do?" His funny face made Isabel grin and giggle. Isabel thought Gabriel was the funniest thing ever.

"Your sweetness rubbed off on your dad," Mary giggled. Just then a clap of thunder shook the house. "Wow… sounds like we're going to have a big storm today."

Molly glanced at Gabriel who had rushed to the window to stare out. He was fascinated by storms, but they frightened him so. The last few weeks had been bad for storms in the middle of the night and he'd spent an awful lot of time cowering in bed between her and Sherlock. "Hey Gabe, help me up will you?" Redirection always worked. He nodded and came over, grasping her hands and helping to pull her to her feet.

"Oooh!" Molly exclaimed, getting to her feet. She stumbled forward, bent over clutching her belly. "Ow… damn…" she groaned.

"What? Are you okay?" Mary rushed over, putting an arm around Molly.

"What did I do?" Gabriel cried.

"Nothing, darling," Molly replied, trying to smile. "It wasn't you. Just… help me to the chair." They obeyed, lowering her to the cushioned seat of the rocking chair. She gripped the armrests tight, the gnawing pain in her belly grinding into her midsection.

"Molly… are you all right?" Mary pressed. "Are you in labor?"

"Uhm…" she panted. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's like last week."

"Is it going away?"

"No… not yet…" They all shuddered with another loud clap of thunder. And then she noticed the wet spot on the rug where she'd been sitting. "Oh Mary… I… I think we need to call the doctor. I think my water may have broken." She pointed toward the spot, her hand trembling.

"It's all right, Molly… women have babies every day," Mary said in an attempt to keep everyone calm. "I'll just… go phone the hospital."

The contraction began to relax and she found that she could stand up. "Good," Molly sighed, relieved that the pain was at last subsiding. She held Gabriel's hand tight. As she looked into his face, she could tell that he was a little frightened of what was happening. "All right, Gabe?" He nodded, but his eyes were huge. "I need you to help me, okay?"

"Okay, Mum…" he said, his voice quavering slightly.

"I'm fine, I promise. But… I need you to go downstairs and get Mrs. Hudson. And then I want you to go and find my mobile. Can you do that?" He nodded and ran down the stairs, shouting for Mrs. Hudson.

**OoOoOo**

"Damnit!" Sherlock growled as they stood, dripping on the sidewalk in front of NSY. The storm overhead had just broken and the rain had gone from a slight summer drizzle to a torrential downpour that had drenched them in seconds. One cab after another whizzed past them, spraying puddles in their direction, but never stopping. "We're never going to get home like this!"

"Just calm down," John said, pulling his mobile from his pocket. "I'll just call Mary and have her come pick us up."

"We can't do that. She has to stay at Baker Street with Molly until we get back!"

"Mrs. Hudson is there!" John shouted over the traffic.

"Mrs. Hudson doesn't have a car and they'll never get a cab in this weather!"

"They'll be fine. If she goes into labor, the worst case scenario, they'll have to call an ambulance."

"An ambulance?!" Sherlock was alarmed at the very idea.

"Yeah, you know those big lorries that run from the hospital to your house in an emergency?"

"I know what an ambulance is, idiot," Sherlock snapped. "But those things are for sick or injured people. Molly is not sick or injured!"

"Calm down, Sherlock!"

"If you tell me to calm down one more time…"

"I'm sure Molly is fine! We'll get home and she'll be there lying on the couch watching telly with a cup of tea." He looked down at his mobile, shielding it from the shower of rain. A blinking red battery symbol flashed accusingly at him. "Damn… my mobile's dying."

"What?"

"My phone. The battery's dying."

"Oh for God's sake…" Sherlock waved his arm wildly, practically jumping out in front of a cab to make it stop. Fortunately it did and the two of them climbed inside. "221 Baker Street," he barked.

**OoOoOo**

Molly was pissed off. You could always tell when Molly was pissed off because she pursed her lips so tightly that they nearly disappeared. They'd been sitting at home for a week, totally prepared for this. Sunny skies, warm summery weather, bag packed, Sherlock constantly underfoot… the whole bit. But the baby had decided to come on a stormy, unseasonably chilly morning when she couldn't find Sherlock. They had tried calling and texting his mobile, but he hadn't replied. They tried calling John, but no such luck. Apparently his phone was dead. Molly had even resorted to calling Mycroft who had cooly assured her that he would find his little brother. That was nearly two hours ago. Meanwhile, her contractions had gotten stronger and were coming every four minutes. She had made the mistake of showing Gabriel the monitor that showed when the contractions were coming and he had given everyone a play-by-play of the progress of Molly's labor. When she'd finally snapped at him to stop, Mary had decided to take him with her down to the waiting room to feed Isabel. So here she sat with Mrs. Hudson. Not that she wasn't grateful. The old woman had been sitting by her bed the whole time, holding her hand and telling her stories about her crazy life in Florida.

"It was all very exciting up until the end. Of course, Frank wasn't always the easiest person to live with. Lord, the rages that man would fly into. I guess it was no surprise that he was a murderer. Sherlock reminds me so much of him."

Molly quirked an eyebrow, casting a sideways glance toward Mrs. Hudson. "I probably don't want to know why." Just then another contraction began and Molly could only breathe through it. She was well beyond the stage of being able to talk through it. She was almost well beyond the stage of being able to breathe through it. And by the time it was over, she wanted to lay there limply on the bed and cry. She'd only been there two hours and already she was exhausted and sore.

"Just keep breathing, dear," Mrs. Hudson coached.

"I AM BREATHING!" she exclaimed, instantly sorry that she had shouted at the poor woman who was only trying to soothe her. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "No worries, dear. I'm pretty immune to people shouting at me. You go on and shout all you want."

As the contraction ebbed, Molly lay back against the pillows, this time unable to stop the tears. She tried to breathe deeply, but her breaths were shuddery and full of tears. "Where is Sherlock?" she whimpered.

**OoOoOo**

The crashing thunder and strobe light show of lightning was reflective of Sherlock's mood as they sat in traffic on Regent Street. "Why aren't we moving?" he growled, staring darkly out of the window. They had been sitting here for at least a half hour. Apparently there was some sort of incident up ahead causing a bottleneck in the narrow streets. Other cab drivers were disregarding rules of the road and lane markings to drive around to the other outlets and take an alternate route. Of course today they had to get the most responsible cabbie in London who just sat there, chirping happily away at them. For a fleeting moment he almost wished that psycho cabbie was driving. At least he'd known his way around. Sherlock wasn't sure why, but he had a terrible feeling that was burning deep in the pit of his stomach. Something was trying to tell him to get home fast and this idiot wasn't making it happen.

"Big smash-up ahead," the cabbie said. "We might be here a while."

Sherlock sighed heavily and pounded his fist against the window.

"Oi! That's my window!"

"You'll have to forgive my friend," John said. "His girlfriend is about to have a baby." He turned to Sherlock, laying a calming hand on his shoulder, "Relax, mate. We'll get there. Why don't you call Molly and check on her? She's got her mobile right?"

He nodded and went into his pocket, searching for his phone. "Shit. Shit shit shit. Where's my phone?"

"What?"

"My phone! Where's my phone, John?"

"Well where did you have it last?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, mentally retracing his steps. "Damnit… I left it on Lestrade's desk. Fuck me…" As the cab crept to another halt, Sherlock threw open the door and rushed out into the busy street.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, throwing money at the cabbie and practically falling out onto the road. "Stop! It's raining and its at least two more kilometers to Baker Street!" But it was too late, he was already gone with a swish of his coat.

**OoOoOo**

"If you shove your hand into my snatch just once more…" Molly was growling at the nurse as Greg Lestrade burst through the doors. "Greg!"

"Molly! Thank God… I made it in time." He stopped by the bed, bending over with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. "Mary… called me… Sherlock…" He put a finger up to indicate that she should wait for him to catch his breath. "I ran… all the way here… big pile-up… no cabs…"

"What about Sherlock?" she asked, clutching Mrs. Hudson's hand as she had another contraction.

Greg held up Sherlock's familiar mobile. "He left it on my desk. And when I saw that there were several missed calls from Mary, I thought it must be time. I had to call every hospital in London to find you. You just had to be difficult and not go to Bart's, didn't you?"

"Greg!" Gabriel ran through the door and tackled the inspector, Mary and baby Isabel following close behind. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh… just returning your dad's phone," he replied, scooping Gabriel up and holding him upside down.

"We're having the baby today!" Gabriel exclaimed, giggling as all the blood rushed to his head. "Where's my dad?"

"I don't know." He looked up at Molly whose face was tense and worried. "I sent as many guys as I could spare out looking for him, Mols. We'll find him. Have you tried calling John?"

"Yes! Neither of those idiots is answering their phone!" she cried. Mrs. Hudson patted her hand gently.

"I'll be back to check you again in a while, Dr. Hooper," the nurse said. "Some of your guests might want to retire to the waiting room so that you can get some rest."

"No," Molly replied with as much calm as she could muster. "I won't be resting until Sherlock gets here so they might as well stay."

An hour later and Molly was a little more than half-dilated and begging for drugs. The stupid nurse kept telling her to rest, but obviously she'd never had a football being shoved forcibly through her naughty bits. Every time she tried to close her eyes, it felt like she was being ripped in two and now the pain wasn't subsiding so much as it was settling in her lower back, hiding there until the contractions of her uterus shoved it back into the light. She wanted to scream, cry, push… everything all at once. When the nurse had tried to throw everyone out of the room, she'd protested angrily to keep Gabriel. Strangely, she could manage to hold it together for him. And when she looked at his face, she could see Sherlock staring back at her and it was a comfort. The others had gone to find some food while she and Gabriel dozed, thunder rumbling in the distance.

Molly wasn't aware that she had fallen asleep until she opened her eyes to see Sherlock standing over her. He was soaking wet and shivering, but he was there. She made a noise somewhere between a cry and a moan as her eyes focused and she became aware that it really was him. "Thank God!" she sighed as he leaned down to kiss her lightly. She was having none of it and pulled him into a full on embrace that squished the sleepy Gabriel at her side.

"Uggh… stop!" Gabriel cried. "I can't breathe."

"Breathing's boring," Molly and Sherlock replied in unison, then laughed.

"Where have you been?"

"Trying to get to you," he replied. "It was murder getting here. There was an accident and our cabbie was an idiot, so we got out of the cab and walked all the way back to Baker Street where Anderson, of all people, was waiting outside the door to tell me you were here."

"We tried to call you, Dad," Gabriel said. "But you didn't answer your phone."

"I know. I was so distracted that I left it in Lestrade's office. Then John's phone died."

"It's fine," Molly breathed. "The important thing… is that… you're here… owww!"

Sherlock looked stricken and took a step back. He watched as Molly leaned back, breathing in that erratic rhythm that she'd been taught at that ridiculous childbirth class. One hand was wrapped so tightly in the bedclothes that her knuckles were bright white. The other hand held on to Gabriel, who was surprisingly unbothered. He held onto her hand, stroking the back of it gently. "What's she doing? Why's she doing that?" Sherlock asked.

"It's the baby," Gabriel whispered, looking at his father like he'd suddenly turned idiot. "She'll be okay in a minute or two."

"Should we call someone?"

"They'll…be in to violate me again… in a second…" Her words trailed off in a scream that startled even Gabriel. "They better hurry…" she breathed.

As if on cue, a nurse appeared out of nowhere. She narrowed her eyes at Sherlock as if to ask why the homeless person had been allowed into the room with the pregnant lady. "I need to check Dr. Hooper, I'm afraid you'll have to go, Sir…"

"This is my dad!" Gabriel said, sliding down from the bed, prepared to face off with the nurse. "He's supposed to be here!"

"Oh yeah? Well I think little boys are against the rules," she scolded, pointing toward the door. "As for you…" But her words were lost on Sherlock who was kneeling by the bed, whispering softly in Molly's ear as she breathed through the contraction. Neither were listening.

"Please stay," Molly whimpered. "I can't do this by myself."

**OoOoOo**

Scarlett's eyes were hazel almost from the moment she was born. That doesn't seem unusual until one considers that babies have blue eyes for the first several months of their lives. Usually. That was the first sign that Scarlett, or Scar as Gabriel insisted on calling her, was an unusual child. Well, that and her head full of fiery auburn curls. And the fact that she seemed to giggle at her father and brother the first time they held her.

She was born in the maternity ward of Chelsea and Westminster Hospital at 10: 25pm. She was tiny like her mother, weighing a mere 7 pounds, 10 ounces. It was a private and fairly quiet affair, only her mother, father, a doctor and nurse in attendance. It might seem like a lonely way to enter the world if it weren't for the multitude of family members pacing back and forth in the waiting area, proof that family is love not blood. Her older brother was ready to crash the barricades to get to his little sister before their father peeked out from behind the double doors and beckoned for him to come. Gabriel didn't get to see her actual birth, but she was still red the first time he held her. One look at her round, hazel eyes and he was in love. When the nurse tried to take her to give her the first bath, Gabriel actually growled.

Once the family was settled back into their room, eager hordes of family poured in to see her. John and Mary, her worthy godparents, were first to be allowed inside. Though they were still dazzled by their own little one, they were mesmerized by Scarlett's beauty and fawned over her accordingly. When Mrs. Hudson arrived, they were banished to the sidelines as she forcibly took the newborn from John's arms and cradled her against her chest. "Look at you!" she cried, trying to resist the urge to squeeze the little thing. When she passed Scarlett off to Lestrade, she threw herself against Sherlock, hugging him tightly. Though he had a look of uncomfortable distress, he allowed the embrace and even returned it. Even Anderson was allowed to hold the baby, as long as he was sitting down of course.

"Well you might have called to tell me that you arrived and that your child was born without incident." Mycroft stood in the doorway of the hospital suite. Gabriel raced over to greet him, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the room.

"You've got to see her, Uncle Mycroft! Come on!" he said, tugging him across the room to where Sherlock stood, holding Scarlett. "Isn't she pretty?"

"Indeed." He peered down at the baby girl. "Thankfully, it appears that she will take after Dr. Hooper." Sherlock smirked.

"She's going to look like me," Gabriel said with a proud grin. "She's already got my hair!"

"Yes, it would appear that no Holmes can escape that," Mycroft sighed. He gasped as Sherlock pushed Scarlett into Mycroft's arms. "Wait… no… Sherlock…"

"Shut up, Nancy," Sherlock replied. Mycroft held the little girl as if she were a landmine. "Look, you can't hold her out in front of you like a flounder," he scolded. "She needs to be close to your body or she'll start crying." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared at Mycroft. "Do _not_ make my daughter cry."

**OoOoOo**

The room was silent and dark. It was a welcome inner sanctum after the events of the day. Molly and Sherlock lay in her bed, their tiny daughter cradled between them. They had counted every one of her fingers and toes, examined every centimeter of her little body. "I just can't stop looking at her," Molly whispered. "I'm so exhausted and I want so badly to sleep, but I just don't want to look away."

"I know," Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to Molly's forehead. "I can't believe she's really here. It's so odd. That this tiny thing came from us."

"Gabriel came from you," Molly giggled.

"Well of course, but I never got to see him like this." He glanced over at his son, lying on the tiny couch, breathing evenly. "He already had a personality when he got here. I just hope I don't screw her up."

Molly laughed. "You won't. You're brilliant with Gabriel. And this one has me to save her." He leaned over and kissed her mouth gently. "Mmm…" she sighed, breaking the kiss. "The doctor said six weeks, you bad boy."

"I can't help it," he purred. "I don't think I've ever wanted you more." He brushed another kiss across her lips. "But I can wait." He shifted around, trying not to jostle Molly and Scarlett too much. "Though, call me old fashioned, but something is definitely missing in this picture."

"Oh yeah?"

"Definitely." He handed her the tiny velvet box, dropping it into her outstretched hand. "You will marry me right?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. I'm just goin' to town on this story this week... weird. Anyway, I hope you like it. I just couldn't stand to keep you in too much suspense over Molly's answer. Thanks for responding so enthusiastically! I love to hear from you, both in reviews and just saying hi. So thanks again! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe and Scarlett.**

Molly gave him a look that most definitely said_, 'Stop him before he kills again.'_ She looked down at the velvet box as if at any moment a poisonous snake might leap out of it. "Uhm… well I…" Suddenly she was the stammering mouse from the morgue once more. "Wait. Do you need to break into someone's office? Because I can just throw a rock through a window—"

"Don't be ridiculous," he sighed.

"Well you can hardly blame me for being suspicious."

"I'm being absolutely serious, Molly," he whispered, wincing at Scarlett made a whimpering noise between them. "See… you're upsetting Scarlett."

She giggled. "Sherlock… look, I have always known how you are. I know that you aren't exactly the marrying kind and I'm okay with that. If you're asking me to marry you because you think that's what will make me happy or what you're supposed to do… you don't have to do that. As long as we're together, it's good enough for me."

"But it isn't good enough for me," he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. There was a desperation in his voice and in his eyes. "Not anymore. I was… such a coward. I wasted all that time trying to avoid the pain of loss and loneliness and in the end… I couldn't outrun it anyway." He took Molly's hand in his and kissed the knuckles lightly. "You remember that time I told you I hated you?"

Molly smiled and nodded. "I do."

"I meant it, but hating you… loving you… it saved my life. You've given me so much more than I deserve, Molly. And I do want to marry you because I want you to be happy, but I want me to be happy too. And I'm happiest when I'm with you. Now that I know what that means, I'm… I'm greedy for it. It started with John and now it ends with you and Gabe and Scarlett. So come on, Molly." He whispered softly, kissing each of her fingertips, the palm of her hand, her wrist. "Save my life."

Molly stared at him, still dumbfounded by his sudden proposal. "Are you sure you aren't just reacting to the excitement of the day?"

"Please, Molly. Please? I want you and our children to have the same name." He paused and mumbled, "Dear Lord, we have _children_."

Molly burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. "Indeed we do."

"By the way, if you tell anyone I've gone this squishy, I'll be forced to kill you and make it look like an accident."

Molly smirked. "Fine way to talk to your fiancée and the mother of your child. Not sure I should marry you now."

"You're the one unnaturally attracted to sociopaths." Whether it was Sherlock's voice or 'sociopaths,' Scarlett stirred, opening her big, unfocused eyes to stare up at her parents in the darkness. It was a careful, calculated movement he used to pick up the tiny girl as she began to fuss. "Shh… you're going to wake up your brother."

"You're getting good at that, you know," Molly observed.

"It's easier when she's not squirming." Scarlett grasped his fingertips and brought them to her mouth with a jerky movement. Immediately she began sucking on them, much to the surprise and confusion of her father. "What is she doing? Why is she doing that?"

Molly giggled. "She's hungry, silly. Give her to me." Sherlock passed her over and watched in utter amazement as Molly pulled her cozy pajama shirt aside and offered her breast to the whimpering Scarlett. "Oww… take it easy, kid," she groaned as the baby latched on eagerly. "She _does_ take after you, apparently."

"Funny," Sherlock replied, still completely mesmerized watching his daughter take nourishment from Molly. As a scientist, he was full of facts and had a complete understanding of how things worked, but actually seeing it was beyond anything he could learn by reading a book. "That's so incredible, Molly."

"What is?"

"Look at all you can do with your body. It's incredible. I really am in awe of you."

"Wow… that's a first," Molly giggled.

"What's that?"

"You being in awe of anyone."

**OoOoOo**

Gabriel lay on the couch with two pillows crushed against his ears and still he could hear the shrill cries of his sister finding their way under the fluff to pierce his eardrums. For something so small she could certainly make a big noise. He knew that babies cried. Katie had told him that her brand new sister cried all night every night. He'd had a plan for that. He nicked his dad's earbuds from his desk drawer and kept them in his room. That way, when she cried, he could just shove them in his ears and listen to music until he fell asleep. But Scarlett didn't just cry at night. She cried in the morning. She cried in the afternoon. She cried at tea time. She'd cried pretty much constantly for the last two weeks that she'd was at home. It was so bad that he'd begged to be allowed to sleep at Mrs. Hudson's flat a couple of nights. Scarlett was really only happy when one of them was holding her, tight against their chest and rubbing her back. Mary said she had colic and that Isabel had been the same. She suggested the little drops that you could get at the chemist, but they did little to soothe Scarlett. Then Mrs. Hudson had said to try a little bit of brandy in her bottle, but John had shouted at them for even entertaining the notion.

"You can't give a baby alcohol!" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Hudson scoffed. "I didn't suggest she drink the whole bottle, dear. Just a drop or two in her milk. Not even half a shot's worth."

John finally conceded that if Molly had a glass of wine before feeding her, it might help. So she tried it. The first time it did nothing except apparently make her breastmilk taste bitter so that Scarlett turned up her nose. The second time, Sherlock (graduate chemist that he is) suggested that she try a little more and that she drink something a bit sweeter than red wine. After three glasses of Riesling, she fell asleep on the couch and Scarlett had formula.

"Uggh… can't you make her stop crying, Mum?" Gabriel whined as Molly paced back and forth across the living room, bouncing the baby gently on her shoulder.

"If I could make her stop crying, don't you think I'd have done it by now?" Molly snapped. "She's been this way for two weeks and it's driving me mad. Do you think you might be a little more patient, Gabriel?"

"I'm trying," he said with a hopeless sigh. "But all this noise is giving me a headache."

"Here, you want to hold her a while?" Molly asked, her eyebrow arched in that way that indicated she was about to lose her temper. "Because I promise that your head doesn't hurt more than mine." She'd been very weird since they brought Scarlett from the hospital. Her temper was quick to flare and she snapped at Gabriel and Sherlock in a way she didn't use to. Then there were the times she locked herself in the bathroom or the bedroom. Gabriel didn't mean to spy, but he could hear her crying at those times. She tried not to cry in front of him or his dad, but it was happening more and more frequently. And she always seemed tired. Her face, always so pretty and sunny, was marked now with dark circles under her eyes. And her bright colored, cheerful clothes had been replaced with oversized, ratty jeans and one of Sherlock's old teeshirts in dark, dreary hues. Before he'd always been able to count on Molly to watch telly with him or play a game, but now when she got a break from Scarlett, she only wanted to lie on the couch or in her bed.

Gabriel looked up at her, his hurt feelings very visible on his face. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She sighed and bowed her head sadly. "No… Gabe. Don't be sorry. I'm the one that should be sorry. I've been just monstrous the last couple of weeks." She put the shrieking Scarlett down in her carrier and sat down on the couch beside Gabriel, motioning for him to come closer. She gathered him into her arms and hugged him tightly.

"Why are you sad, Mum?" Gabriel asked after a few moments. "Don't you like Scarlett?"

"Oh of course I do, darling. I'm just very, very tired and I can't seem to make her stop crying. And I know it's been hard for you too… I'm just…" Her voice trailed off into shuddery sobs and she hugged Gabe tighter. "I'm just not very good at being someone's mum!"

"Sure you are!" Gabe replied. "You're brilliant, Mum! She's just grumpy right now, but she'll get better."

"You think so?" she sniffled.

"Of course! Besides, you're the best mum I ever had."

Molly smiled. "It's not like you have a lot to choose from."

"Just trust me."

"Okay," she giggled. "I'll take your word for it."

**OoOoOo**

Scarlett was six weeks old when Sherlock decided that enough was enough and insisted on taking Molly out for the night. Scarlett had finally stopped crying continuously, but Molly wasn't quite there yet. While she was no longer locking herself in the bathroom, she would become either a blubbering mess at random intervals for no apparent reason, or irrationally angry. Or, the most fun, both simultaneously. When she turned around and screamed at Sherlock, "I'm a disgusting Mummy Blob!" he'd decided that it was time to intervene. But to pull it off, he'd need a little help.

_John. I need help. –SH_

_Are you being murdered? – JW_

_No. – SH_

_Then piss off. We're on holiday.—JW_

_What if I was being murdered?—SH_

_Goodbye, Sherlock.—JW_

Well John was obviously going to be no help at all. Ahh… Mrs. Hudson. She was always good in a pinch. And she loved keeping Scarlett and Gabe. It would be perfect. "Mrs. Hudson!" he bellowed down the stairs. No response. "Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted again, but again nothing.

"What are you shouting about?" Molly asked, emerging from the bathroom with a freshly bathed baby.

"Mrs. Hudson. She's gone."

"Yeah, don't you remember? Her sister is ill and she's gone down for a few days to help out."

"Oh…" he sighed. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. All of their so-called friends who had promised they'd be there to help them out had the nerve to go on with their own lives.

_Lestrade—Are you busy? –SH_

_Yes. – GL_

_How could you possibly be busy? If you were busy you'd have called me. –SH_

_I'm off-duty. What do you want? –GL_

_Off-duty? Doing what?—SH_

_None of your business.—GL_

_Oh. She's married and she has an overactive body hair problem.—SH_

_Piss off. –GL_

Uggh… why was everyone so busy? Didn't they know he need their help? He ran through his mind palace, trying to come up with someone he could call to sit with Scarlett and Gabriel tonight. He could try Mycroft, but he knew that his brother was out of the country and besides, he wasn't sure he trusted his brother not to drop the baby out of a window. Or get her involved in some kind of shady espionage scheme. He opened his contact file on his mobile, flipping through the numbers. There was only one that he hadn't tried. He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he caught sight of Molly in the bedroom, pulling a sleeper on to a very wiggly Scarlett. He had to make this happen. She needed the night away from the flat. With a sigh, he punched in the number: Anderson, Philip.

**OoOoOo**

"Let me start by saying that if you misplace one hair on either of my children's heads, I will turn you into fertilizer for Molly's herb garden." Sherlock stared at Anderson with a look so ferocious that there could be no mistake that he was joking.

"They'll be fine," Anderson replied. "I have been around children before."

Sherlock gazed down at Anderson. "Somehow I doubt that." Gabriel chuckled. "First up," he began, leading him into the kitchen. "Scarlett has three bottles already prepared in the refrigerator. She gets one in about an hour and another right before you put her down to sleep. There's an extra in case she's really hungry or if you mess up." He arched his eyebrow and stared seriously at Anderson. "Don't mess up."

"I won't."

"Of course you won't. It's idiot proof. But if there's some kind of weird emergency, there's a whole pouch of expressed milk in the freezer."

"Expressed?"

Gabriel giggled. "Milk from Mum, silly."

"Oh."

"As for Gabriel, he's pretty much self-sufficient. He's already eaten, but he is allowed a snack if he gets hungry, just don't let him drink tea with a whole container of honey before he sleeps. And he'll tell you that he can drink coke, but he's lying."

"Dad!"

"If he drinks it at night he'll be climbing the walls. Milk, juice or tea with a little honey is what he's allowed."

"Rudeness," Gabe grumbled.

"Oh, and he'll tell you that he wants to watch some horrible movie that's coming on later…something about zombie insects—don't let him watch it. He'll be up all night long and I intend to have better things to do when I get home than to coax him back to sleep."

"Got it."

Gabriel threw himself dramatically onto the couch. "I never get to have any fun."

"Shame isn't it?" Sherlock replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Anyway…" he motioned Anderson forward and took Scarlett from Molly's arms as she breezed through, her hair still wild. "Okay… this is a tiny human."

"Thanks for the info."

"Well I never know if you have rudimentary knowledge, Anderson."

"Ha ha."

"Anyway, she eats every two hours whether you want her to or not. Don't worry, if you forget to feed her she'll be glad to sing you a song of her people that will remind you. As I said before, she shouldn't take but two more bottles before we get home, but you never know. And for God's sake, if she wants to eat, just feed her. It's easier."

"Indeed."

Sherlock shoved Scarlett into Anderson's arms and arranged her so that she was balanced in the crook of his arm. "Hold her like this or up on your shoulder. She does not like to be too flat and you have to hold her close to you. She can sort of hold her head up, but it's still wobbly, so support it. If you scramble my child's brains, I'll cut you from gullet to gonads. I'm not kidding."

"Oh come on, Sherlock! I won't scramble her brains!"

"Be sure you don't." He smiled, seeming to forget about his gruesome promise. "Oh… and sometimes she does like to be on the floor. Make sure you put her blanket down first. We don't know why the rug freaks her out, it just does." He snapped his fingers, impatiently motioning for Anderson to hand him the baby. "Now, the most important part of your crash course—changing her nappy." He gestured toward Gabriel, who brought a nappy, a box of wipes and a container of baby powder.

"You think I'll have to change her?" Anderson looked apprehensive.

Gabriel laughed. "Uhm… yeah. Probably a lot."

"Well why can't you do it?" Anderson asked Gabe with a sneer.

"Because I'm not the babysitter," Gabriel replied, sticking his tongue out at him.

Sherlock swatted Gabriel playfully. "Don't be rude." He lay Scarlett down on the blanket he'd spread out. She cooed and reached up for Sherlock. "All right, Molly just changed her, but we'll do it again just to show you how it's done. She's starting to get to where she can wiggle away from you, so be prepared." Sherlock unsnapped Scarlett's sleeper and freed her legs. As soon as the cool air hit her skin, she began to kick playfully. "See?"

"Yeah… that could be a problem."

"It's really not," Sherlock explained, trying to sound patient and gentle so that Scarlett wouldn't get upset. "First and foremost, get the new nappy ready. Unfold it and slide it under her." He grabbed Scarlett's ankles, kissing the bottoms of her feet to distract her. "Now you take the old one off, but be sure to open it up, let the air hit her and then put the old one down really fast." He demonstrated.

"What? Why?"

"Trust me on this. If you don't, she'll pee all over you." He pulled the old one off and wrapped it up tight before handing it to Gabriel. "Clean her off really well. Wipe her from front to back."

Anderson had a look somewhere between disgust and confusion. "Why?"

"Never wipe back to front. You'll give her the crotch rot." Gabriel died laughing. "Anyway, sprinkle a tiny bit of the powder on her front and backside and then button up her nappy. Like… so. Make sure its tight, but not so tight that it leaves a mark on her skin." He made short work of rearranging her sleeper and buttoning her back up. "All done," he cooed at Scarlett, lifting her up and kissing her cheeks with exaggerated kissy noises. She squealed and pulled at his hair. "So easy that..." He stopped and looked at Anderson. "Shit… I dunno what to say, I usually say 'so easy that Anderson can do it.'"

"So witty."

"Yes I know." Gabriel reached for Scarlett and Sherlock passed her off carefully. "If you get stuck, Gabriel's gotten pretty good at most things." He got to his feet in one graceful movement. "Oh, I have an emergency bag here that's got essential stuff in it if you suddenly had to leave for some reason. There's also a first aid kit with medicine suitable for both children on top of the refrigerator. Mine, Molly, John and Mary's mobile numbers are also listed on the board on the front of it if you need it. Though, John and Mary and their baby are visiting some friends of theirs in Yorkshire, so they aren't much help. Myself and Molly should be home around eleven."

As if on cue, Molly emerged from the bedroom looking better than she had in a month. Her eyes were wide and clear with no sign of sleeplessness. Her hair hung in loose, auburn curls that fell around her shoulders, highlighting the exquisite peacock pearls that adorned her throat. She was wearing a strappy, turquoise dress that hugged her new, more curvaceous frame perfectly. And of course, the vintage diamond on her hand was the perfect finishing touch. Most importantly, she looked deliriously happy tonight. "I'm finally ready. You didn't threaten him did you?" she asked, nodding to Anderson.

"Of course not." She made her way over to where Gabriel sat in the armchair, bouncing Scarlett. "Be good, loves," she said, kissing the crown of Gabriel's head and tickling Scarlett's ears.

"We're always good, Mum," he replied, stretching up to kiss Molly's cheek.

"Good is a relative term, I suppose," she said. "In bed, actually sleeping by ten, please."

"Can't I stay up until you get home? Who will read to me and tuck me in?"

"Anderson can do that," Sherlock replied. "Reading isn't a difficult skill. I'm sure he can accomplish it."

Molly cleared her throat loudly and carried Scarlett over to her reluctant babysitter. "Don't listen to him, Philip. We have every confidence in you." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "And we really appreciate you doing this for us." He returned her smile and watched as she hurried down the stairs.

Gabriel tugged at Sherlock's sleeve and reached to be picked up. Sherlock obliged and squeezed him tight. "Laters."

"Be good, child-thing. Don't let Anderson break your sister."

Gabriel giggled. "I won't."

Sherlock started down the stairs then turned back to Anderson. "Gullet to gonads," he said with a wink and a deceivingly pleasant smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Y'all make me so happy! Thank you thank you for all the wonderful reviews and hellos! I do hope that I've gotten to say hello to each of you and thank you for all your encouragement. That last chapter I think was my favorite so far. I'm so happy that you're getting some laughs and some "awwww"s from my little vignette. So.. onward and upward! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe, Scarlett and Cat the dog.**

Molly placed her hand over her wine glass as the waiter approached. "None for me, thanks."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in surprise at her refusal. "_You_ turning down Merlot? Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

She smiled and nodded. "I don't want to have to throw out an entire batch of milk. I don't exactly produce enough as it is."

"I thought we said we weren't going to do this."

"What?"

"Talk about the baby. We agreed that tonight we were going to pretend that we were just Molly and Sherlock, two people on a date without any children or responsibilities. Like we were before Gabriel came."

"Oh really? Like we were before Gabriel came?"

"Yes." Molly stood up and gathered her purse. Grabbing a napkin, she wiped her lipstick off and finally grabbed her hair and tied it in a knot on the back of her head. "What… what are you doing?"

"I'm going back to the way we were before Gabriel came. Well… see you, Sherlock." She tried to walk away, but he stood up fast, blocking her path. "Something you needed?"

"You're ridiculous. Sit down," he said, reaching behind her to pull at the knot of hair so that it would spill around her shoulders once more. "You know what I meant. We're on like… a date." He winced at the term. "So just relax."

"On a date with you? Before Gabriel? That would have been nerve wracking," she mumbled as she took a sip from her water goblet.

"I don't know why you were always so skittish," he replied.

She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. "Really? No idea?"

"Fine, I admit to being a little brusque—"

She could only stare. "Brusque? You told me I was stupid and unattractive every day for five years. I dunno why I'd be skittish around you."

"I never said you were unattractive—"

"Really? _'I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.'_" She parroted his words in an uncanny impersonation of him.

"I didn't say I didn't like it. Your mouth is small."

"Too bad _you_ don't have that problem."

"Are you implying that my mouth is too large?"

"I'm not implying it. You have a big mouth, Sherlock Holmes. Which you shoot off far too often. Which someone should slap you in at least once or twice a week."

"Well don't hold back, Mols. Tell me how you really feel."

"Okay. You're rude. You never think before you say things. Half the time you filter me out when I'm talking so you never really know what I've said. You never clean up after yourself. For example, the sink in the bathroom after you shave looks like a yeti was murdered and you never rinse it out. You think tea is something that just happens. When you get up in the morning, you stomp around the house, waking me and everyone else up. You automatically assume that everyone knows what you're talking about, even when you don't explain, and then when we express confusion you act like we're the stupidest people alive. You play the violin in the middle of the night when people are trying to sleep, with no regard for them whatsoever. You shout, you're childish and you fall asleep after sex so quickly that sometimes I think you were unconscious the whole time." Her tirade was done just as the waiter came back with their starters. She nodded to him and placed her napkin in her lap with a graceful movement.

"Well… that was illuminating," Sherlock said, pushing his hands through his hair and shaking it out. It was a nervous gesture he had. "One might wonder why you're here at all."

Molly giggled. He actually looked hurt. Imagine that. Mousey little Molly Hooper had the power to hurt the feelings of the great Sherlock Holmes. She leaned forward and clasped his hand tightly. "You're also the most intelligent person I've ever known. You're self-assured and you never waver once you've made up your mind. You're honest, nearly to a fault sometimes, faithful and perhaps the most loyal friend I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. Your rudeness is tempered with little shots of sweetness and charm that are, surprisingly, sincere. It's true that you aren't the greatest advocate for sentiment, but you do love. I didn't used to think so, but you do. You love deeply and passionately, if only just a select few. I admire that you don't waste your time slapping insincere proclamations on everyone you meet. When you tell me you love me, I know that you mean it. You're an amazing father, a ferocious protector and an extremely thorough lover. That's why I'm here. That's why I stick with you through all the other. Lest you had this idea that I have some kind of childish infatuation with your hair or your eyes or those smolderingly mysterious cheekbones."

"You're far kinder to me than I deserve, Molly Hooper," he said. His voice was low and gravelly. There were slight blossoms of pink on his cheeks and he was almost stammering. She'd embarrassed him. "I'm not really… used to people complimenting me. Except backhanded. _'Oh he's so clever. Too bad he's such a prick.'_" He stroked his fingertips along the tiny bones at the back of her hand. "You've always seen through me. How do you do that?"

"How do you?"

"Yeah, but I only see the bad stuff, usually. And it's all so… superficial. Things I can pick up from what they say or objects they carry. You seem to… feel it. Sense it, almost." He smiled, a genuine and warm Sherlock-y smile. "You make me believe in the impossible."

**OoOoOo**

"All right, Scar. You have to be really quiet," Gabriel whispered. "Otherwise Mr. Anderson will find you right away and the game will be over." Scarlett grinned, making a gurgling noise as she reached up to pull at his hair. He smiled back, putting a fingertip to his lips and then snapping the strap on her carrier. She'd have to be safe while she waited. The tiny wardrobe by the stairs was the perfect hiding place. Most people didn't even know it was there. He'd hidden in there from that awful Ms. Barrett once and it took her an hour to find him. And she didn't even find him, he snuck up on her. "Okay, you stay here Scar. I'll be back to get you in a little while." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stuck her dummy in her mouth. She smiled around it as Cat pushed around him and into the wardrobe with the baby, sniffing around her and licking at her face. "Cat! Get out of there," Gabriel hissed, casting a glance over his shoulder to see if Anderson was watching. Still sitting in front of the television. Perfect. The little hound dog had become very protective of the new addition to the family and sat down beside the carrier. "Come on," Gabe urged, but the dog wouldn't budge, offering a defiant snuffle. He rolled his eyes, grasping Cat's collar and dragging her out and slowly closing the door. "Okay, Cat," he said with a mischievous smile. "The game is on."

**OoOoOo**

Molly was laughing so hard that her breath was coming in loud hiccups. "So what did you do? How did you catch him?"

"Well you'd think that finding a dwarf with a blowgun in London would be easy, but it was surprisingly difficult. But once we drew him out it was only a matter of time. And John did manage to recover. Fortunately the poison didn't have the opportunity to penetrate past his kneecap." Sherlock leaned forward and offered Molly more wine. "Help me finish the bottle," he said.

"Oh go ahead. I'm already going to have to dump the milk anyway." Once they'd stopped bickering, it was the best date Molly had ever had. Her and Sherlock's relationship was comfortable and friendly again. She was relieved about that, actually. Over the last few weeks, they'd become nothing except Scarlett and Gabriel's parents and that was scary. She feared that he didn't see her the same as he once did, but obviously that wasn't true. Their conversation was easy and playful. He never missed an opportunity to touch her and when he did it still sent that familiar shiver across her midsection that would radiate to places further south.

"I wanted to tell you. I overheard you and Gabe talking the other night. When did he start calling you mum?"

"Only _six weeks_ ago," she chuckled. "I thought being observant was your schtick."

"I didn't say I hadn't noticed before, silly. But I kept forgetting to ask you."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. I…I'm glad. Gabriel loves you. And he deserves a mother like you, Molly. You are a _wonderful_ mother."

Molly blushed and took a sip of her wine to hide her glowing cheeks. "I try to be," she mumbled.

"It comes naturally to you. You were always able to put me in my place."

"Do you think his real mum would approve?"

"Irene? Of course she would. And it doesn't exactly matter, does it?" Sherlock drained his wine glass and stood up. "Come on. Let's dance." He gestured to the dancefloor, set off to the side. It was packed with people dancing close.

"What?" She looked stricken.

"You know… dancing." He pulled her chair back, taking her hand and tugging her up on her feet.

"What…wait? Sherlock! I can't dance!"

"Of course you can. Anyone with feet can dance. And they've made excellent strides in wheelchair technology, so even if you don't have feet you can dance," he babbled, leading her across the room and into the dance hall.

"But… I don't know what to do…"

"Just relax, Mouse. Let me lead you."

**OoOoOo**

"Oh my God… what am I going to do?" Anderson held his head in his hands, sinking down onto the sofa and desperately wishing it would swallow him. "What will I tell Sherlock?"

"I dunno, Mr. Anderson, but you better find my little sister or my dad's going to kill you. Did I ever tell you about the time he threw that guy out the window?"

Gabriel had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Anderson hadn't even noticed she was gone for the first half-hour. He sat there, blithely watching telly and making Gabe fetch fizzy drink from the fridge. Until Gabriel happened to mention that it was time for Scarlett's last bottle. He went to the travel cot Molly had set up in the lounge only to find that Scarlett was nowhere to be found. He then began to tear the house apart looking for her: under beds, in the bathroom, even under the couch cushions. Gabriel had been kind enough to remind him that she was only six weeks old. "She can't crawl, stupid."

"Then where can she be?"

"I dunno, but you better find her."

Another half-hour later, here they were. Staring around the destroyed flat. "Lestrade! I'll call Inspector Lestrade. What if she's been kidnapped!?"

"Good idea," Gabriel nodded. "Of course the first person Uncle Greg will call is my dad."

"Shit. You're right." He chewed the thumbnail of his right hand, desperately searching the walls for any sign of help. "Donovan. She's good at this sort of thing. And she's a woman. Women are always good with babies."

"Nope," Gabriel replied, popping his 'p.' "If Sgt. Donovan comes in here, my dad really will kill you."

"He's not going to kill me. We joke about Sherlock being a psychopath, but he'd never actually kill anyone. Would he?"

"I dunno. He really likes Scarlett. And you lost her. He'll probably kill you. Slowly. And with pain."

Anderson's face fell and he shook his head sadly. He looked like a man going to his doom as he pulled out his mobile phone. "Wait! Mrs. Hudson… what about her?"

"She's in Brighton with her sister."

He sighed. "All right, we'll split up. Give the place another once over. If we don't find her, I'll call your dad… and then… hide in a closet somewhere." He stood up and they began to walk all over the house, going in and out of rooms. Anderson even called out the baby's name, much to Gabe's amusement. The baby didn't even know she had a name, much less what it was. She probably just thought her name was 'the baby.' Cat barked and yapped around them, running in and out between their feet. She actually succeeded in tripping Anderson once, making him fall face forward to the floor in the nursery.

"It's no use," he said after a long time, practically sniveling. "She's gone. Kidnapped! What are we going to do, Gabriel?"

"We? What's this we stuff? I'm not the babysitter!"

"You were supposed to help me!"

"I am helping you!" Just then they heard a shrill cry. Suddenly Gabriel's expression of feigned worry melted away like a wax statue in the sun. Anderson shot up from his seat and bolted down the stairs, following the noise. Gabriel went after him, dragging his feet slowly. The game was over.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Anderson followed the shrill sounds of Scarlett's ever increasing cries of panic. After a few seconds of confusion, he finally spotted the tiny broom cupboard by the stairs. He threw open the door and there she was, sitting on the floor of the cupboard in her carrier. Her tiny red face staring expectantly up at them. "Thank God!" Gabriel sighed dramatically. "You found her!" When Scarlett saw her brother she grinned and clapped her hands.

**OoOoOo**

As soon as Sherlock and Molly opened the door at 221, they could hear a terrible commotion upstairs.

"Get back here, you little demon!"

As the couple emerged at the top of the stairs, the flat looked like a war zone. Gabriel was standing on top of his father's desk, wielding his violin bow like a sword to hold off Anderson in full attack stance. Scarlett cooed happily from the sofa.

Both looked afraid to move and followed Sherlock and Molly with their eyes. Finally Gabriel broke the silence. "I can explain…"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here's a new bit! No, Gabriel wasn't destroyed...I know you're disappointed. :) Thanks again for all the kind reviews and follows! Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Gabriel, Scarlett and Cat the dog.**

"What the hell is going on here?" Sherlock exclaimed as Molly pushed past them to grab Scarlett. Gabriel and Anderson began shouting in unison, both pointing at the other. "Whoa! Just stop! One at a time!" Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe that he was having to referee and be the voice of reason. "Anderson?"

"Why does he get to go first?" Gabriel whined.

"Because he's taller," Sherlock snapped, pulling Gabriel down from where he was perched on the edge of his desk.

"We were having a perfectly lovely evening. The baby had her bottle and was sitting on the floor on her blanket while Gabriel and I played Snakes and Ladders. When we finished, I put Scarlett back in her carrier and Gabe went to get ready for bed. I sat down and started watching telly—"

"Is there any way that we could cut out all these extraneous details?" Sherlock sighed.

Anderson scrunched his face in displeasure. "I'm trying to tell you what happened."

"Just make the end of the story as close to the beginning as possible."

He sighed. "I got involved watching the movie and I saw Gabriel come back into the room. We watched telly for a while longer and then I realized it was time to give the baby her last bottle and put her down—like you told me. But when I went to get her, she was gone."

"She was gone?" Molly exclaimed. "What do you mean, she was gone?"

"She wasn't here. The baby, her carrier—it was all gone. So I asked Gabe where she was and he said he didn't know."

"He wasn't even watching us, Dad," Gabriel interrupted. "He was sitting on the couch watching the television and making me get him fizzy drink out of the refrigerator the whole night! The only reason he played Snakes and Ladders with me is because I bet him he couldn't beat me!"

"Don't interrupt," Molly said, rocking Scarlett as she started to fuss. All the tension in the room was making her antsy.

"But Mum, I—"

"Hush!" Molly snapped, instantly making Scarlett start crying. "Oh sorry, love…" she said, finally taking the baby to the bedroom.

"Go on, Anderson," Sherlock said, his voice taking on the terse, eerily calm timbre that was usually reserved for serial killers and psychos.

"So… I go tearing around the house looking for her. The whole time, Gabriel's shouting at me that I better find his little sister!"

"I wasn't shouting!"

"Gabriel, I'm not telling you again to let him finish." Gabe threw himself down on the sofa in an epically dramatic pout.

"We went all over the flat looking and finally we heard her squealing in the broom cupboard by the stairs. When I opened the door, there she was on the floor, strapped into the carrier. Obviously she'd been there for almost an hour. _Gabriel _hid her from me!"

"I did not!" Gabe shouted, forgetting his father's threat. "Dad! You have to believe me, I was not hiding Scarlett!"

"Oh yeah? So I suppose she just got up on her chubby little feet and walked herself over to the cupboard, while carrying the seat, and shut herself in?"

"Well… no…"

"You really must learn to be a better liar, Gabriel." Sherlock pulled his coat and scarf off, throwing them over the armchair, then looking to Anderson. "I'm sorry Gabriel was such a demon, but Scarlett doesn't look any worse for wear."

"She was angelic all night. She never even cried until she was locked in the cupboard." He looked over his shoulder to stare pointedly at Gabriel who promptly stuck his tongue out. "And Gabriel wasn't bad until the end. But I promise, Sherlock. I was watching them! I'll stay and help clean up the mess, if you like."

"Of course you were watching them. Thank you." Going to the hook by the door, he handed Anderson his coat and led him down the stairs. "And I wouldn't dream of asking you to clean up Gabriel's mess."

Gabriel could hear them talking a few minutes more below him. Maybe he should just go up to his room and crawl into bed now. Just pretend to be asleep so he wouldn't get in trouble. And oh how much trouble he was in. He'd been in trouble before, but rarely had he heard "the voice of doom." Every now and then he was banished to his room or sent to bed early. Once he was not allowed to go to his violin lesson because he'd refused to do his homework. Rarely, he found himself on the receiving end of a sharp swat on the backside, but on those occasions his pride was hurt more than his person. But this time, he might just be destroyed. In retrospect, it was pretty bad to lock his sister in a wardrobe for an hour. And then a beam of hope—Mum. His mum would not allow him to be destroyed. She would at least be a witness.

His thinking took too long and before he could bolt up to his room, he heard the heavy footsteps of his father coming up the stairs. Gabriel sank back into the cushions of the sofa and pulled his knees up under his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible. Cat leapt on to the sofa beside him, laying down and giving a tiny whine. Sherlock emerged at the top of the stairs, going to the armchair and gathering his coat and scarf to hang on the hook by the door. He passed by Gabriel and went into the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the counter, flipping the switch to boil. Gabriel leaned way over, peeking around the table to see what his father was doing. Why hadn't he said anything yet? He seemed to be ignoring him completely! He was still silent as he pulled down two cups and the container of loose tea. He was methodical as he scooped tea into the pot, poured the boiling water into it and went to the refrigerator for milk. He finished making two cups of tea and disappeared down the hall, Gabe staring after him. "What the…" Gabriel whispered. He stared down at Cat who wrinkled her brow and closed her eyes. He sat there a while longer, afraid to move from his little island. Was his father lying in wait for him? Or maybe he was just waiting for Mum and Scarlett to go to sleep before he killed him and dumped his body in the trashbins downstairs.

He sat there for another few minutes, trying to work out what he should do. If he wanted to run to his room, now was the time. He could hear his parents talking in the other room and every now and then Scarlett would let out a cry of protest. Gabriel glanced at the clock. It was well past when the baby should have been asleep. Most likely she'd be up most of the night and fussy. He sighed. He really did screw up this time. Finally he decided that he'd better go ahead and get it over with. He dragged himself off of the couch and trudged down the hall to his parents' room.

The door was open and Gabriel stood in the doorway. His mum sat in front of the vanity brushing out her hair while his father lounged on the bed with Scarlett. She made tiny, contented noises as she lay against his bare chest. "Mum? Dad?" Gabriel murmured.

Sherlock looked up to acknowledge his son. "Go to your room and wait for me there," he said, his voice quiet and emotionless. "I have to get Scarlett to sleep and then I'll deal with you."

"But Dad—"

"Go. Gabriel. I don't want to see your face right now."

Deciding that he'd better do as he was told this time, Gabriel turned and ran down the hall and up the back stairs to his room.

**OoOoOo**

The time crept by endlessly. Even Cat couldn't take the tension. She finally jumped down from the bed and ambled back downstairs. Gabriel was curled up in the center, wishing he could vanish. He'd just been having a little fun. He hadn't meant to make his parents so angry. In fact, he thought his dad would have liked his little trick on Anderson. He probably would have if he hadn't involved Scarlett. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of her. She took all the attention away. Dad used to play with him all the time but now it seemed he was always holding the baby or rocking the baby or feeding the baby. Mum was the same. She used to always watch telly with him or play games, but now she was always with Scarlett. Maybe he was a little jealous.

"All right. I've had a little tea, I've had a cigarette, I'm pretty calm." Sherlock stood in the doorway to Gabriel's room, arms crossed over his chest. "So go ahead and tell me what happened."

Gabriel began spitting out the story at an alarming rate of speed. "I didn't mean to leave her in there so long, Dad! I was just playing a trick on Mr. Anderson, but after I hid her in the cupboard, I forgot she was there! I didn't remember until Mr. Anderson said that it was time for her last bottle! I didn't want to hurt her, Dad. I made sure she was strapped in to her carrier and everything!"

"So tell me this. When Anderson began to panic, did you say, 'Hey, I know where the baby is' or 'She's in the wardrobe by the stairs'?"

"Well no. But I was going to! I just wanted to scare him a little bit! It was a joke!" Gabriel's chin trembled and he was on the verge of tears. He knew he was in for it this time. "I'm… sorry…"

"You done?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Sherlock sighed and pushed away from the doorframe. He walked into Gabriel's room and sat down on the end of the bed, holding his forehead. "You know, Gabe, I'm so… tired. I'm tired in my body, I'm tired in my mind. I'm tired in my heart. Was it really too much to ask that Molly and myself have one night to ourselves? Just one? Not even a whole one. Just a few hours."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Gabriel whimpered.

"No… please don't say you're sorry. If you were really sorry, you wouldn't keep doing things like this, Gabe. You have this talent for doing things without thinking about what might happen afterwards. And I've been wracking my brain for the last half hour, trying to think of something I could do that you would remember the next time you went off on one of your impulsive stunts. Because evidently none of these little tete a tetes manage to sink in."

"They do, Daddy…"

Sherlock nodded sadly and pushed his fingers through his hair. They sat in silence for several moments, the only noise being the soft sniffles coming from Gabriel. "You know, Gabe, when I was a little boy, I was exactly the same. Probably worse. I used to shout and throw myself down on the floor, kicking and screaming. I'd hide in the woods behind the house until it was so dark that the police would have to come looking for me. I remember once, I got so angry at Mycroft because he was leaving to go back to school after summer break—I snuck into his room, stole all his uniforms and buried them in the garden. One of the maids saw me do it and ratted me out to my father."

"What happened?" Gabe asked.

"In an attempt to make me remember not to do it again, he wore me out with his belt."

Gabriel tensed, sliding back further on his bed, suddenly wishing he could disappear into the headboard. He could tell that this time he'd really screwed up and that his father was sick of being reasonable. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you remember not to do it again?"

"Not really. I mean, I never buried Mycroft's clothes again, but I did other things. I was very willful and the more times I met with my father's belt, the more willful I became. He only succeeded in making me afraid of him. As I got older, that fear faded away leaving behind anger and hate." He turned and stared at Gabriel, cowering behind his pillows. "I think you remember what that's like."

Gabriel nodded and relaxed a little, finally crawling down the bed and into his father's lap. "I really am sorry, Daddy… I just forget—"

"No you don't. You ignore," Sherlock replied, putting an arm around Gabriel. "There are rules that must be followed and when they aren't there are consequences."

"But I thought you hated rules," Gabriel replied.

"Nobody likes rules, but they're necessary. And when you break one, you'd better be prepared to take responsibility for it and bear the punishment."

Gabriel had a sheepish expression, as if he were afraid to look up at his father. "What are you going to do to me?" he mumbled.

"What do you think I should do?"

Gabriel gnawed at his lower lip, deep in thought. "Tell me not to do it again and send me to bed?"

Sherlock snorted and nodded. "I'm sending you to bed because you're tired. But I don't think that's going to do much in the way of penance. I think no telly, no playdates and no violin for the week is sufficient."

"But there's a new episode of Doctor Who this week!" Gabe protested. "And I got invited to a birthday party on Friday!"

"Ah, that's where the 'punishment' part comes in."

**OoOoOo**

Sherlock laughed to himself as he came into the bedroom. He hoped that Molly was still awake, but his hopes were dashed upon entering. There she lay, curled around his pillow, breathing lightly. Scarlett, on the other hand, was wide awake beside her. The infant lay on her back, cooing as she batted at some invisible thing on the ceiling. As soon as she saw Sherlock, she grinned.

"Still awake, eh?" he whispered, picking her up gently. "I guess the excitement got the better of you, Scarlett. Well that's okay, I suppose. It happens to me all the time." He cradled her to his chest and she immediately snuggled against him, seeking out the warmth of his chest. "You know, they aren't going to trust me to put you to sleep anymore. If you keep waking up." She made a gurgling noise and Molly stirred behind them. "Shhh… you're going to wake up your mother." He continued down the hall and into the lounge. "You know, Scarlett… you're totally messing up my plans," he said, finding the remote for the stereo and turning it on. A quiet, sleepy song came on and Sherlock turned it down low. "Though I suppose when I said I'd like to spend the night with the woman of my dreams, I should have specified which one." He pressed a kiss to the messy auburn curls at her crown. She crowed again, grabbing a handful of his hair and tugging gleefully. "Ow, Scarlett," he laughed, disentangling her fingers from his own curls. "Clearly you already know how to gain the upper hand."

"She listens to her mother." Sherlock turned to see Molly standing in the doorway, watching their midnight dance.

"Wise girl," Sherlock replied, beckoning her over with a nod of his head. She joined them, wrapping her arms around them both and swaying to the music.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Greetings from the Arctic! Not really, I'm just snowed in! Hopefully that means I'll have lots of time to write. Thanks again for all of the reads and reviews, both on this story and Sandwiches. I'm also working on a rather dark, sexy piece if you're jonesin' for some sexy Sherlock. Anyway, I hope you like this little chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett and Cat the dog.**

"Dad! They're driving me crazy!" Gabriel flopped down on the bed, narrowly avoiding the open suitcase.

"Who?" Sherlock asked, buttoning his shirt.

"Scarlett and Isabel!"

Sherlock turned and stared at Gabriel in disbelief. "An infant and toddler are driving you crazy? You're much smarter than that, Gabe."

"Dad, really," Gabriel whined. "They're awful. Izzy can actually walk and she keeps grabbing my crayons and running off with them. Scarlett just breaks everything!" He sighed. "Please! You have to do something about them."

Sherlock chuckled. "What do you want me to do? I'm packing, just like you should be doing." They were taking off this morning for Ambergris. John, Mary and Isabel were coming along to enjoy the last warm days at the house by the sea. Gabriel could feel that something was up, but he hadn't put his finger on what that might be just yet. They had decided out of the blue to go away for the week. That wasn't like them. His dad was always busy, especially since Scarlett came. Since Mum had gone back to work, he and John were always going out for most of the night on cases so that he could stay home with the baby during the day. By the time Gabriel got home, his dad was always gone. He felt like no one was around anymore to play with him or spend any time with him. Mum tried to make it better, but it seemed that every time she curled up on the sofa to snuggle with him or watch telly, the baby started crying and she had to run off to deal with it.

Gabe had confided all of this to Katie and she shook her head knowingly. Her own family had a new addition and she was experiencing the same thing:

_"This is my second little brother and he's even worse than the first one. At least my Grandma is coming here instead of us having to move back to New York." _

_"I love Scar, but I'm scared my mum and dad love her more than me."_

_"Well why don't you ask them?"_

_"I'm scared of what they'll say." _

The conversation with Katie had only served to make him more uneasy. What if they were taking this trip to tell him that they had decided he would be happier at boarding school? Or maybe they were going to have another baby?

"Are you packed yet?" Sherlock asked again, ruffling his hair into place.

"Mostly," Gabriel said, staring at the floor and kicking the vanity in an uneven rhythm with the rubber toe of his trainer.

"Mostly? Does that mean you've packed everything but your pillow or that you have an empty suitcase open on your bed?"

"I think I've got everything." He sighed, watching Sherlock put things into his small, leather shaving kit. "Why can't we take Cat with us?"

"She's gotten too big, Gabe. We've been over this. She'll be fine at the kennel."

"What if she gets lonely?"

Sherlock turned and glared. "She's a dog. And there will be other dogs at the kennel to play with. It's not like we're taking her to dog jail."

"What if I get lonely?" Gabriel mumbled. "I won't have anyone to play with."

"Sure you will. You'll have me and Molly and the others. You'll also have Scarlett. You're her favorite person to play with."

"But Dad… she can't walk or talk. At least Cat can run. Babies are boring."

"She won't always be boring, Gabe. She'll be able to play with you soon." He nudged Gabriel off the bed. "Come on. Let's finish getting your stuff packed so we can go."

"Are we taking the Tube this time?" Gabe asked as he was marched up the stairs to his room.

"No. I've already hired a car. God help us, I'm going drive us all the way to Camber Sand." When they got to his room, it was revealed that 'mostly' did indeed mean "open suitcase on bed." Gabriel went to his wardrobe and pulled out a mess of socks and underwear. He tossed them in a wad into the suitcase and went back for more. "Whoa, wait…" Sherlock said, stopping Gabriel before he could pile more stuff into the case. "You have to fold your things or they won't fit."

"It's just pants and socks."

"Yes, and a knot of that over here will make it so you can't fit your other things inside." Gabriel rolled his eyes and pulled the clothes out again. "Don't roll your eyes. It's rude and your face might stick like that."

Gabriel giggled. "It will not."

"Look, I'll choose your clothes. You put them into the case." Sherlock pulled several pairs of trousers, shorts and shirts out of Gabe's wardrobe and stacked them on the bed.

Gabriel wrinkled his nose and held up a pair of trousers that he'd had to wear to the church when John and Mary got married. "Dad… I hate these. Why do I have to take them?"

"Because you might need to go someplace where you'll have to dress nicely."

"Like where?"

"Just pack the trousers, Gabriel!" Sherlock snapped. "Why do you insist on arguing with me about everything today?"

"I'm not! I just asked a question."

Sherlock didn't answer, but finished setting all of Gabriel's things out on the bed. "Finish getting your stuff together and meet us downstairs. I have to go get your sister ready." Gabriel mumbled something that Sherlock couldn't quite hear. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"No, what did you want to say?" Sherlock pressed.

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. "It's not important. Let's just go."

Sherlock didn't make a habit of deducing his family. He'd been informed by Molly that it was intrusive and rude so he tried his best to let things go by unnoticed, but just from Gabriel's body language and general grumpiness, he could tell that something was going on and had been for several weeks. At first he'd thought it might just be Katie's family moving back to America, but it had been decided that Katie's grandmother would move here instead. Then he thought maybe Gabriel was worried about something at school. Maybe some kid was teasing him or he was having trouble with some subject in class, but when Molly asked his teacher, she had assured them that everything was fine. He'd also had a couple of bouts with accidents in the middle of the night. And though Sherlock had been less than thrilled at having to get up at three in the morning to completely strip and remake Gabe's bed, he hadn't said a word about it. All of these symptoms indicated that Gabe was having some kind of crisis.

Reaching behind him, Sherlock closed the bedroom door. He took the shirts out of the child's hand and led him over to the old armchair by the window. "We need to talk," Sherlock said, sitting down and pulling Gabriel into his lap.

Gabriel shrugged him off. "Dad, let's just go," he whined. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Really? Don't lie, Gabriel. It doesn't become you at all. And there's no point. I can see right through you."

"Nothing's the matter."

"I didn't say there was."

Gabriel glowered. "Don't deduce me like one of your psychos."

Sherlock smirked. "You really shouldn't be so smart. But I'm not trying to deduce you, Gabe. I want you to tell me what's wrong. You've been moping about for the last few weeks and I just wanted to know why. Maybe I can help."

"It's stupid. Everybody's going to be waiting for us."

"It's not stupid, Gabe. There is obviously something wrong and you and I are going to sit here in this chair until you spill whatever it is."

Gabriel took a deep breath. "Dad… it's just… can we give Scarlett back?"

"I'm not sure, but I think there was a no refund policy posted at the hospital. So why are you trying to get rid of your sister?"

"She ruined everything!" Gabriel blurted. When he realized what he said, he looked a little surprised.

"How so?"

"Everything is different now. Nobody ever pays any attention to me anymore. John and Mary are always busy with Izzy. You aren't ever at home when I'm awake. Nobody is around to play with me or help me with my homework. Even when Mum tries to watch telly with me, Scarlett starts to cry and then she's off taking care of her. Again."

"Babies take a lot of attention, Gabriel."

"So I'm just supposed to be invisible? Or maybe you're all just tired of me." Gabriel narrowed his eyes and turned up his nose, screwing his mouth up in a snarl that looked so much like Irene Adler that Sherlock heard himself gasp. Never before had he seen her half of Gabriel's DNA so clearly and it was disturbing. It was cold. No childish whimpering or lip quivering, Gabriel was angry. The tiny Irene that lived in Sherlock's mind palace gave him a "duh" expression. He was jealous. And jealousy apparently looked like his mother. He guessed it made sense.

"Of course not. No one is tired of you." Gabriel rolled his eyes. It was apparent that extreme measures would have to be taken. "All right, that's it." With a mischievous grin, Sherlock pushed Gabriel off his lap and shouted, "Vatican cameos!" before grabbing him around the waist, body slamming him on to the bed and darting from the room.

"Dad!" Gabriel shouted, chasing him down the hall and stairs. They rushed past John and Mary, leaping over the coffeetable, both of them laughing.

"What in the world?" Molly exclaimed as they blew past her as she stood at the top of the stairs, trying desperately to hold on to Cat. Seeing all the excitement, the dog pulled at her leash and barked at them, wanting to join the game. Scarlett immediately started squealing from where she lay in the playpen. Sherlock and Gabriel paid them no mind but continued chasing one another down the front stairs and out the front door.

"What's gotten into them?" Mary asked, wiping Isabel's face.

"Expending energy, I suspect," Molly replied as if it happened on a regular basis. "They'll run all the way to the park and back. They just better be back in time for Sherlock to get Scarlett dressed. It's his turn." She pulled at Cat's lead. The dog was still trying to get down the stairs to chase after Gabe. "Ok, I'm walking Cat down to the kennel. Mary, don't you want to walk with me?"

"Well actually…"

"Yes, you want to walk with me down to the kennel." Molly smiled sweetly and jerked her head. "John, you'll be all right with the girls won't you?"

"We can hope."

**OoOoOo**

Sherlock and Gabriel lay on the ground at the park, breathing heavily from their sprint. "Oh my God, I'm getting too old to do that," Sherlock complained.

Gabriel laughed evilly. "I'm going to be faster than you soon, Dad."

"You already are. Your legs just aren't as long." He smiled and ruffled Gabriel's hair. "Look, about what we were talking about before." He sat up and looked down at his son. "I'm sorry if we haven't been giving you enough attention. I know I've been the worst. It's been very busy and trying to adjust to having a baby in the flat hasn't been easy for me."

"Its okay, Dad…" Gabriel started.

"No it isn't. I'm not the best at knowing what people need from me as far as attention or affection goes. Your mum yells at me about that too. I tend to think of you as pretty self-sufficient, Gabe. You're almost seven and so damn smart. You amaze me, sometimes. But I have to remember that you're a kid, too. And I know that you need me and Molly just like Scarlett does. I'm very sorry that I wasn't giving you what you needed."

Gabriel shrugged. "It's okay, Dad. I know you love me."

"Of course I do. But I can't promise that I won't get distracted again. So I'm going to ask you a favor."

"Sure."

"If you feel ignored again, please tell me. Don't lock your sister in a cupboard. It really upsets your mum."

**OoOoOo**

"So why did you drag me out here? John's good, but I'm not sure he's quite ready for two babies at once." The two women stood in the foyer of a cozy looking townhouse. Everything around them was decorated with pet paraphernalia. The house had the distinct odor of animals, but it was strangely pleasant. Beyond a gated doorway were lots of other dogs running around with one of the attendants. Cat barked happily, eager to play with the other dogs.

"I wanted to talk to you about this week," Molly said, struggling to hold on to the dog.

Mary laughed. "We already agreed that we would take turns keeping the babies so the other couple could go out and get their freaks on."

"Well yes, but there's more. Sherlock and I asked the two of you to come with us because… well… we're uhm…"

"Spit it out, Molly," Mary urged. "Are there naughty games afoot?"

"We're getting married."

"Well duh… you've been wearing that ring for months."

"No, I mean this week. We're getting married at Ambergris."

Mary stared at her friend, her eyes bugging and her mouth standing ajar. "Shut up… you are not."

"Yes we are."

"But… what about… a church? A dress? Flowers? Your families?"

Molly shrugged, handing the bag of dog supplies over to the attendant and signing Cat in. "Neither of us really have much family to speak of. All my relatives are distant and Sherlock only has Mycroft, whose out of the country right now anyway. We just want to do it and get it over with. No fuss. Just us and the people we love the most. A small, intimate gathering."

"Wow."

"We thought about just going ourselves and getting it done, but Sherlock thought John might be hurt if we didn't at least tell him."

"What about Mrs. Hudson? And Greg?"

"You're kind of missing the point of a small, intimate gathering."

"But don't you want the big wedding with all the friends and the dress? Thousands of roses? The honeymoon?"

Molly smiled, kneeling down to scratch Cat behind the ears and kiss her nose before sending her off with the attendant. "Not at all. All I've ever wanted was Sherlock. As long as he's there and Gabe and Scarlett, you and John and Isabel… I have everything I need."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Damn you, peer pressure! I blame you, Joely! Hehe... enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett...**

When they pulled into the driveway at Ambergris, there were two cars that were unfamiliar. "Were you expecting anyone?" Molly asked.

"No," Sherlock replied, pulling up the brake. "Maybe the cleaning service is still here." They emerged from the car and began pulling endless bags and baby debris out of the boot of the car. Gabriel yawned groggily and unstrapped his baby sister from her car seat. She whimpered, unhappy at having her nap cut short.

"Eeww… you smell funny, Scarlett," Gabriel noticed, wrinkling his nose. She replied with a giggle. As always, Gabriel was hilarious to his sister. "Yeah, laugh it up. You stink," he grumbled as Molly opened the back door and picked her up. "I think she needs a new nappy."

"Oh yeah? Sounds like you're volunteering to help with that," Molly replied with a wink.

"Nooo…" Gabe said, holding his arms out defensively in front of him. "You said I didn't have to do the bad ones. And that is most definitely a bad one. I think she exploded."

"Imagine if your dad had said that when you were a baby," Molly scolded, handing Gabriel the nappy bag and Scarlett's empty bottle.

"I had the courtesy to be toilet trained when I got here." He followed her up the stairs to the back door of the summer cottage. Gabriel much preferred coming to Ambergris when it was warm. He didn't have to wear shoes and he liked to swim in the ocean. That is, once his dad had taught him to go out past the breakers to swim where it was calmer. The water was cold, but it felt good against his skin when it was so hot outside. He couldn't wait until everything was settled so he could go for a swim. John and his dad had promised him.

"What are all of you doing here?" As they reached the top of the stairs, they could see that not only was Sherlock, John, Mary and Isabel on the porch, but also Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. They did not look happy.

"We might ask you the same question, young man," Mrs. Hudson scolded. "Imagine! Sneaking off to get married without inviting us!"

"Don't be silly. Why would we sneak off to get married?" Sherlock replied haughtily.

"Oh save it," Lestrade snarled at Sherlock. "I overheard you talking to Molly on the phone yesterday, making your plans. So I called Mrs. Hudson and told her, so we decided to just come on over and see for ourselves!"

"I can't believe you would be so inconsiderate, Sherlock!"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Lestrade interjected. "Sherlock, yes. But Molly… we've been friends for years! I've watched the two of you dance around one another all this time. I think I should be important enough to warrant an invitation! And what about Mrs. H? She's been putting up with your shenanigans for ages…"

"It's just plain cruel, Sherlock!"

"Look…everyone," Molly began, pushing the baby into Sherlock's arms after he opened the doors and ushered everyone inside. "We didn't mean to leave anyone out. We weren't sure ourselves until yesterday. We wanted to just go to the Registrar and get it over with—no fuss. But I just couldn't bear the thought of getting married in a dingy little office. So here we are. John and Mary agreed to serve as our witnesses and as they're Gabe and Scarlett's godparents, we thought it appropriate. We really didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. We had planned to get everyone together next week and tell you properly."

"Mycroft is out of the country and will be for a while, so he couldn't be here either," Sherlock said, spreading a changing mat out on the sofa and laying Scarlett down. "But since you're here, please stay," he said with an exaggerated smile.

"As if we would leave," Mrs. Hudson huffed, handing Greg her case and immediately going to the kitchen to assess what they would need for the week.

"So which church are you going with?" Mary asked.

"We aren't getting married in a church," Molly explained, searching through the nappy bag to find the wipes.

Everyone looked up, hearing dishes crash in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was standing in the archway with her hands on her hips. "What do you mean you aren't getting married in a church?"

"Just that. We aren't," Sherlock replied, kissing and tickling Scarlett's feet to keep her from wriggling away while Molly found the baby wipes. "As I've said so many times—ridiculous fantasy, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sherlock Holmes! How can you look at that perfect little baby you've got in front of you and not believe in a higher power!"

"Oh God, can we not have this fight again?" he sighed until Scarlett squealed kicking him in the mouth.

John chuckled. "Divine Intervention, that was."

Molly smiled and handed over the small box of baby wipes. "We aren't getting married in a church. But we are getting married on the beach. By the local vicar. So all of you can just relax."

**OoOoOo**

"So do I have to carry Scarlett down the aisle or something?" Gabriel asked as his father tugged and tucked at his button-up. "Because she wiggles around a lot and I'm kind of scared to carry her around a lot."

"No. There is no aisle. We're just going to stand on the beach and have a short ceremony and then we'll all go have dinner together. It's no big thing. You don't even have to hold Scarlett if you don't want to. "

"No, I want to," Gabriel said. "I like holding her, I just get nervous if I have to walk with her. When's she going to learn to walk anyway?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Not for a while yet, probably."

Gabriel sat down on the bed and watched him finish getting dressed. They figured since they were getting married standing on the sand, that everyone should go with semi-casual attire. Gabriel insisted that he wasn't going to wear shoes because, as he pointed out, Scarlett wasn't going to be. Ordinarily, Sherlock would have protested, but given that he wasn't much for wedding traditions, he didn't say a word. "Are you and mum going on a holiday without us?" Gabriel asked.

"We're going to stay in town tonight, but then we'll be back. We won't actually go on the s—" He stopped. He probably shouldn't call it a sex holiday in front of Gabriel. "I mean, the honeymoon, until probably next summer. When Scarlett is older. Your mum doesn't want to leave her for a week just yet."

"What if I can't sleep?"

"Why wouldn't you be able to sleep?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know. I just usually can't when you aren't at home."

"I think you'll be okay. And we'll be back in time for lunch tomorrow. You probably won't even notice that we're gone." He straightened his shirt and combed his fingers through the curls that fell over his brow. "Besides, you have to help take care of Scarlett. You know you're the only one that can make her stop crying at night." It was true. When Scarlett woke up screaming, at those times when she even refused Molly's breast, Gabriel was the only one that could calm her down. "Oh don't forget, we have to get her little portable crib-thing set up in Mrs. Hudson's room."

"You can put her in my room."

"I think Mrs. Hudson has her heart set on it." He turned and posed for Gabe. "Well, do I look okay?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I guess. I don't think you should wear shoes."

"You don't think anyone should wear shoes. Ever." There was a knock at the bedroom door and Sherlock ruffled Gabriel's hair before opening it. John stood in the doorway, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "John? You look ill."

"Uhm… Sherlock. I uhm… think you should come down. Now." His words were measured like a man who was trying to avoid being shot by an assailant hiding somewhere behind. The last time he'd heard John talk like that, he'd had a bunch of explosive strapped to his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just… I think you ought to come down. And that Gabriel should stay up here."

Sherlock nodded slowly, trying to glean something from John's body language, but he was drawing a blank. "Gabriel, stay here. Don't come out until one of us comes to get you," he said, trying not to alarm the child.

"Okay, but what's going on?" Gabriel asked.

"Everything's fine. Just stay up here, okay?"

Sherlock followed John down the stairs quickly. The other man held himself with the tense posture of a soldier. Whatever it was, John was definitely spooked. As they entered the lounge, Mary, Greg and both babies were sitting on the couch, looking perfectly happy as they played together. Obviously whatever was going on wasn't life threatening. "What exactly is going on? Are we under attack? Is Zombie Moriarty at the door or something?" Sherlock joked.

"Not quite. Perhaps just as frightening." Sherlock paled as he heard the voice. He recognized it immediately and suddenly his body was stone. He couldn't move and for a second feared that he would lock his knees and faint. "Surprise! I would ask you to dinner, but somehow it no longer seems appropriate."

He turned and inhaled sharply as his suspicions were confirmed. "What… how…" He was stammering. Sherlock hated to stammer. It was ridiculous, but this time he thought it might be completely justified. "Irene."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: WOW! You guys and your comments... holy shit! I woke up to a full inbox this morning and it was fabulous! I'm so glad you guys are so concerned about Gabriel and love the story so much. You're all such darlings for it and I do appreciate it. Thanks so much! Here's the next chapter and I'll just say- its not over. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett.**

The phrase 'silent as the grave' was what came to mind as the occupants of Ambergris stood around the lounge, gawking at the woman who had walked through their door. Almost as if everyone was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She stood there, a near-perfect copy of the Irene Adler that he had last seen more than seven years previous. Frozen in time. Even her hair was the same. The rest of them had been so changed by the passing years, but she was like a ghost from Sherlock's past. A spirit that now only existed in the recesses of his mind palace. He had locked her away there some time ago, no longer having use of her coy smiles and hollow promises. An adolescent fantasy that no longer existed.

"I can see that I've interrupted something important. Perhaps I should go and come back later…"

"No. No I don't think that would be a good idea," John said, taking a protective stance beside Sherlock. "In fact, coming back here ever might be a bad idea."

"Oooh… nice to see that Dr. Watson is still just as fiercely protective of you as he always was, Sherlock. It's heartwarming."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, his voice dangerously low and calculated. He peered over his shoulder, making sure that Molly was nowhere behind him. He didn't want to drop this complication on a day that was supposed to be just for her.

"Just to talk to you," Irene replied, casting sideways glances around the room. "In private. Please."

Sherlock nodded and gestured toward the corridor that led to the extra rooms. Her heels pounded on the hardwood floor, counting each heartbeat as they made their way toward the study. Each heartbeat gave him another second to deduce more about her. No longer did he draw a blank when he looked at Irene Adler. Experience or absence had deconstructed the air of mystery she'd held over him all those years ago. Makeup just a little thicker to hide the lines of age and weariness. The designer sheath dress the only posh thing she had left from the old days. He could tell by the hem. In fact, she had gone to a lot of trouble to look like The Woman today. Obviously she wanted something from him. She wanted it so badly that she was willing to put on a costume of the Old Irene. The Miss Adler that she assumed he still held close and would do anything to impress.

He opened the door to the study and held it for her, stepping aside to let her in. "How dare you," he said, pushing the door closed.

She laughed and sat down on the corner of the desk that stood by the window. "No hello kiss, then?"

"What the hell do you want, Irene? I was reliably informed that you were dead. But then again, I don't guess I'm too surprised that you aren't. What life are you on now, Miss Adler?"

She smirked. "Look who's talking. That little stunt you pulled—jumping off the roof of St. Bartholomew's? Pretty amazing."

"You heard about that?"

"People on Mars heard about that. I had a little fantasy that you would call me during your… internment, but alas, no such luck." Sherlock turned to her, looking stricken. "Does it surprise you to know that I still fantasize about you?"

"Surprised? No." He negotiated carefully around the desk, taking care not to come within reach of her, just in case her skin might be laced with poison. Reaching down, he opened a desk drawer and took one cigarette and a lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a long draw, then let it out slowly. "Not to rush you, but time is of the essence today, I'm afraid."

"Yes, what exactly did I interrupt?"

"None of your concern," he snapped. "Just make this quick."

She chuckled mirthlessly and pulled her gloves off. "Might I have one of those?"

"I thought you loathed cigarette smoke."

"Things change," she replied, taking the cigarette from him and leaning forward so that he might light it. "Speaking of which, you look very well for someone back from the dead."

"You don't," he replied.

"I can see you're still a charmer."

"You look desperate, Irene. You look so desperate that you're willing to put on quite a show in your second hand white linen and designer knock-off stilettos. So what is it? More people trying to kill you? Pissed off the wrong unstable government?"

"I want to see him."

Sherlock stopped cold, processing her statement. He ran through possible answers in his mind palace. His initial reaction glowed red, _'Go fuck yourself, Miss Adler.'_ Of course, that probably wasn't the best thing to say. And it would only make her more persistent. There was also the possibility of pretending he had no idea what she was talking about. Of course, for a man for whom honesty was almost an involuntary reaction, this might not be the easiest feat to perform. But then, the rage bubbling under his skin, making his blood boil forced him to blurt: "No."

She looked genuinely taken aback. "No? How can you say no?"

"Easy. One syllable. Now if that's everything, there's the door. Follow the path around the house to the carpark." He took her by the elbow and nudged her toward the door leading onto the patio.

"Please, Sherlock," she said, pulling away from him. "Please. Let me explain. When I'm through, if you still want me to go, I'll go and you'll never see me again."

He stopped to consider her words. He couldn't help balling his fist at his side, flexing his fingertips and then pushing his hands through his hair. It was an unconscious tic that he'd had since childhood. It was the only thing that kept him from punching her. "Six years. Six years you knew about Gabriel. What can you possibly say that would explain your not telling me?"

"Gabriel?"

"That's his name. A name that some nun who didn't know him at all came up with."

"Oh. I… I like it." She looked around the room and suddenly, a look of despair and abject terror crossed her face. Almost as if there wasn't enough air in the room. "No… no you're right. I shouldn't have come here…" She started for the door.

Her sudden cowardice only served to ignite his anger like a solar flare. He rushed her, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcefully shoving her down on the leather sofa. "No, no. This is what you wanted. To explain. To make me understand how you could hide this from me and then abandon him like a scuffed up pair of shoes! So you and me are going to sit right here and you're going to make me understand!"

"I… I don't know where to begin…"

"How about when you found out you were pregnant with my child." He began to pace, hoping that they were at least stalling Molly. He nervously steepled his hands in front of his mouth as his brain raced.

"Well… after you left me there, in that tiny flat outside Florence, I started to get so bored. The romance of the city, the wine… without you there it started to fade. Being a nameless face in the crowd was never for me, so I left. I knew it would be dangerous. That insignificant terror cell in Karachi was most definitely not the only one looking for me. So I made my way in the world, switching names and cities, staying one step ahead. Hell, I didn't even realize I was pregnant for four months. When I found out, I wanted to go to you. I tried… but… they were following me. It was too dangerous to go to London or contact you. So I just kept putting it off."

"Skip to the part where you left Gabriel alone in a convent. Four hours from my home and still you didn't see fit to even send me a text."

She nodded and shifted on the sofa, sliding back from him a little so that it was easier to breathe. He watched her carefully and observed, with satisfaction, that her eyes, looking so black, still dilated at his close proximity. "I was running. I wanted to come to you. I did… but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want to put you in danger anymore."

He snorted with disdain and lit another cigarette. Chain smoking might be the only way to get through this conversation without violence. "I've never been afraid of danger."

"I just… if I had it to do over again…" She sighed. "Oh well, it doesn't matter now, does it? What's done is done. Anyway, I just kept running. The night that our child was born, I was on a dark road in Halifax. I remember I wasn't feeling well, but I was determined to make it to London. I was trying to get to you. I don't know what happened but I blacked out… just for a minute, but when I came to, this old man was pulling me out of the car that I'd apparently crashed into a tree. He took me to St. Christopher's Convent just up the road. I was banged up and bleeding, but also in labor. The good sisters wanted to call an ambulance, but I'm afraid that it was too late for that. I barely held on long enough for the doctor to arrive and cut the cord." She took another draw of the cigarette poised between her fingers and then smashed it out in the ashtray. "I never even held him, you know. I was so ill. They took him from me as soon as I saw him. The doctor that examined me after said that I had cancer and that it was a miracle I'd been able to carry the child at all. He gave me three months."

"Obviously an exaggeration," Sherlock remarked.

Irene ignored him and went on. "I didn't want to put a child through that. Nor did I want to put you through that. So I wrote those letters and left them with a nun called Margaret. Five days after his birth, I was gone. I didn't have the strength to run anymore. I went to an old friend in Marseilles and stayed there—expecting to die, but he had a doctor friend that saw me and thought he could help. Which he did and here I am."

"You know, Irene… if anyone else was telling me this story, I wouldn't believe it."

"I know… maybe you've been right all this time and I do have nine lives." She smiled. It was a flirtatious and familiar smile.

"So why now? Why did you finally decide that it was safe enough to make your presence known? I mean, there was what… two years? Three between the time that you gave birth and when you were miraculously cured? Why not go back for him?"

She gave a hollow snuffle and rose from the sofa, going to the drawer where Sherlock had retrieved the cigarette before. "What would have been the point, Sherlock? They all thought I was dead. Maybe I wanted to be dead. Besides, I could never be sure he would be safe if he was with me. At least leaving him there, I knew they'd find him a home that would be safe. Where he wouldn't be dragged from one dangerous situation to another."

"Oh really?" Sherlock's eyes grew cold and he clasped his hands under his chin briefly. "Would you like to know how safe he was? The 'good sisters,' as you called them, didn't find him a home. Though that was probably a blessing in disguise as he'd have been sent to a children's home which is really just a factory for drug addicts and criminals. No, they kept him right there in a convent full of women with absolutely no idea how to relate to children. He didn't learn to talk until he was three years old and an old caretaker finally decided to talk to him. When he got to me he couldn't even recognize his name when it was written on paper. Not knowing how to communicate effectively, he was completely out of control, except of course when the Mother Superior beat him with a stick and locked him in a confessional."

Irene's eyes were downcast and a single tear slid down the ridge of her nose. She dabbed at it lightly with the back of her hand, trying not to draw attention. "Oh no, Sherlock…"

"Oh yes, Irene! Would you like to see the scar? It's about ten centimeters long across his lower back. Made when the thin, wisp of wood at the end cut into his skin and started to heal while he was locked away. Care to guess what sort of offense would warrant such a beating? He threw up in his bed. Tantrums and rages and crying so hard he made himself sick—that's what you've missed _since_ his rescue, which by the way was purely by chance. The first few weeks he was at Baker Street, we had to literally hold him when he got angry to keep him from beating his head against the wall."

"Stop. Please… I don't want to hear anymore…" she sobbed.

"Why should you be spared?" he spat, snuffing his cigarette. "But you wanted to see him. Go ahead. There's a picture on the desk right beside you."

A small frame stood in the middle of the desk. A laughing Gabriel was snuggled between Sherlock and a smiling woman with long, auburn hair. All three of them looked happily sunkissed with the ocean behind them. "My God… is this him?" she breathed, picking up the photograph and brushing her fingertips over his face. Sherlock nodded. "He's… beautiful, Sherlock."

"I know."

"He looks just like you."

"Yes he does."

She stared down at the smiling face and couldn't help crying once more. Over and over she traced him with the tips of her fingers, trying to memorize every line. "When was this taken?"

"Last summer. He wasn't quite six."

"Who is the woman?"

"Her name is Molly. His mother."

Irene smirked. "You have changed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well… you look… like you're in love. And here I thought you couldn't be bothered. What was it you said? Something about a chemical defect?"

"Funny how death puts things in perspective."

"Indeed. She's pretty. Not really your type, but—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock snapped.

"Nothing. She just looks a bit… mousey. Not at all who I'd expect you to hook up with. I'd think your mate would have to be someone more… explosive."

"Someone like you, you mean?" He chucked but no mirth reached his eyes. He closed the distance between them and took the picture from her hands. "There are more important things than always being the center of attention. Loyalty, compassion… common sense. Molly loves me for all that I am, but requires that I be better. And she's not afraid of anything. She doesn't run away when things are difficult. So you would do well to keep your glib opinions to yourself."

"I didn't mean anything by it, Sherlock," Irene said. "I'm glad that you're happy. And that she's been so good to Gabriel." She sighed and slid from her perch, feeling that she was in a danger zone being so close to him. "I'm not here to cause you any grief or create any friction. I'd just like to see my son."

"You have no son, remember? You left him before you ever even held him. You're like a fish that lays an egg and then waits for the male to swim over and fertilize it."

"I think you did a little more than swim over."

"Yes! And because I did I deserved a little more than a letter in a burned out house telling me that I had a child!" he snarled. "So convince me, Irene. You have two more minutes and then you're leaving. Convince me that you deserve to know him. And yes, you will know him. There is no in between, this time. He knows what you look like. It's not as if I can introduce you as some long lost friend—he knows who you are. He's seen your photograph and he will remember what you look like. So if you're going to waltz back into his life, you'd better be prepared to actually see him. I won't have you hurting him again. Not when he's finally gotten over you."

"I don't want to disrupt his life. Or take him from you."

"As if you could. Everyone thinks you're dead. Dead people don't make fit parents."

"I don't even want to make him come visit on holidays, I just want to see him. To tell him that I'm sorry and that I've always loved him. I've dreamt about my little boy—"

"He is _not_ your little boy!"

"Please, Sherlock. Please. I'm not afraid to beg."

Sherlock sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair roughly and shaking it out. He paced back and forth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them gathering outside on the beach, talking to the vicar who had arrived. They wouldn't be able to stall much longer. He could tell, even from this distance, that Molly was starting to get nervous. She looked back at the house every few seconds, probably wondering where he and Gabe were. Such a good boy. He had stayed in his room just as Sherlock had asked. There was no more time. "All right. You can see him, but not here. Not now. There's a restaurant in town called The Albatross. Meet us there tomorrow for din—tea."

A wide smile broke and she stood up, rushing to embrace him. "Thank you, Sherlock!"

"Don't thank me just yet. He may not want to see you. Molly may go completely mad at the prospect. But we'll be there." He led her to the door, opening it up and showing her the path that would lead to the roadside and avoid the beach. "If you don't show up, I swear that's your last chance. I will never entertain this notion again. Understood?"

Irene nodded, then smiled, placing a gloved hand on his cheek. "That's why I always liked you, Mr. Holmes. You were the only man I'd ever let dominate me."

He smirked. "Get out."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry this took a while. I'm just going to tell you ahead of time- -everything is going to be fine...LOL. But thanks so much for all the reads and reviews and love for Gabe and the story itself. All of you are awesome! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett.**

Sherlock and Gabriel emerged from the house just as John was barreling up to find them. "You all right, mate?" John asked, looking at Sherlock pointedly. "We were beginning to think you'd changed your mind." He chuckled nervously.

"Of course I didn't change my mind. Everything's fine." He smiled as genuinely as he was capable, nudging Gabriel ahead of him. They walked down the beach a ways to where the others were waiting. There seemed to be others, anyway. They were getting caught in the filter, fading into the background when he turned his gaze on Molly. They had agreed not to make a big deal of everything, but even still… Molly was breathtaking in her simplicity as she stood there with Scarlett cradled in her arms. The plain white sheath dress she wore practically glowed in the setting sun. Her long, auburn hair hung freely today, blowing in the sea breeze, the highlights catching fire. Perhaps it was Molly herself that was glowing with the light of a woman who had finally gotten everything she ever wanted. It was very attractive on her.

"We were wondering when you were going to see fit to grace us with your presence," Molly teased, handing Scarlett off to Gabriel before taking Sherlock's arm. "Fashionably late doesn't really work for weddings."

"Keep your pants on, Mouse. I got here," he replied with a wink.

"What pants?" she giggled as they made their way toward the vicar.

"Tsk… naughty girl."

"Sure you don't want to back out?"

"Don't you? I mean, I can't imagine anyone wanting to spend the rest of their life in my loathsome company. I'm rude, messy, moody, with a variety of annoying idiosyncrasies…"

"A sociopath…"

"That too. You're much too good for me."

"I'm just using you for sex." The vicar looked at them strangely, obviously having only caught 'sex.' They swallowed their giggles and tried to look serious as he began to rattle off all of those clichéd sentiments about love being patient and kind, how the institution of marriage was not to be entered into lightly… all those things that Sherlock usually just tuned out. He found that this time, though, he wasn't wandering through his mind palace or thinking about some new puzzle. This time he could only gaze at Molly, carefully cataloguing every movement, smile and intake of breath.

"I'm told that traditional vows would not be necessary," the vicar said, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. "However, if the bride and groom would like to say anything before the rings."

Everyone looked to Sherlock expectantly, but he was silent. In fact, he didn't even appear to be in the world with everyone else until John kicked him lightly in the shin. "Oh. Yes. Uhm…" Strangely enough, Sherlock never had trouble speaking until a large group was standing there looking at him. He felt positively weak when there wasn't any death involved. "So… I _think_ I'm supposed to be saying something meaningful and romantic about you, Molly. In fact, I spent all day yesterday thinking about what to say at this moment and I'm falling miserably short. In truth, you know that almost anything I say in a sentimental vein is usually completely fabricated, and it's not really a good idea to lie in front of a vicar—even if his entire profession is peddling lies to optimistic morons."

"Sherlock…" John mumbled.

"Oh… sorry. Anyway, Molly, the point is I'm not really good at this sort of thing. You are the only person on earth that could ever put up with all of my ignorance and idiocy and not fly into a murderous rage. You've been a far better friend to me than I have to you, yet you persevered. You've always accepted me, even when no one else did and despite others' urging to push me away. I in no way deserve you or the happiness that you've almost forcibly inflicted upon me. But, I'm afraid that I can't say I love you, Molly."

"Oh God…" she sighed.

He completely ignored her and went on. "While I was watching telly this morning, against my will, I kept seeing all these adverts with people claiming to _love_ their shampoo or their toothpaste or the bloke that came to fix their air conditioning. How can I use the same words about you that someone might use to talk about dog food? But I'm told that this is something I must do, if for no other reason than to make you happy. And making you and our children happy is the most important thing to me. So, you may count this as one more time that I've said I loved you with all of my clothes on."

By the end of Sherlock's speech, Molly was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Scarlett was not so cunning and giggled loudly from where Gabriel stood holding her, on the other side of John. "Wow, that… kind of sums up our entire relationship," Molly sighed. "You say something incredibly sweet buried under layer upon layer of… Sherlockishness and then we all laugh nervously. Good one, love."

"Thanks," he replied, smiling victoriously.

"Well, I suppose one has to laugh to keep from crying sometimes. I'm afraid that I'm not quite so eloquent. I don't really have much to say beyond 'me too.' Its probably no secret to anyone here that I was ruined by you from the first time we met. Not that I didn't try to avoid it, but as you know, all of my attempts failed miserably. Let's see, I dated a homicidal maniac, an idiot, well… lots of idiots, and this one guy who smelled disturbingly of lye…"

"Molly…" Sherlock said, shaking his head. She looked up to see that everyone was staring with somewhat horrified looks on their faces.

"Anyway, I've managed to pretty well make my feelings about you known, even when I really didn't want to. And of course, when I was trying not to be obvious, you always delighted in pointing it out in case anyone missed it. Some call it adorably oblivious, I prefer to just say you're an asshole and leave it at that."

"I hope there's a but coming, Molly…"

"_But_ it has been my privilege to be your friend, your lover and the mother of your children." She smiled nervously, glancing sideways to notice that everyone was staring. "But then, I do post mortems."

**OoOoOo**

Molly sighed and leaned back against Sherlock. They lay in the enormous, claw-footed tub, lazily letting the day's stress drip from their skin along with the sweat of their exertions. They could hardly be blamed. It was the first time since Scarlett was born that they'd had the opportunity for more than the occasional quickie in the bathroom or a late night tryst on the sofa. Of course, after the last sofa session, Molly had expressed concern that if she died from inhaling the sofa cushions, to please not let them put "auto-erotic asphyxiation" on her death certificate. One night on their own on the top floor of a luxury hotel down the beach is just what the doctor ordered.

"That cigarette isn't near my hair is it?" Molly asked, noticing a plume of smoke rising from behind.

"No. But I promise that if your hair catches fire, I'll dunk your head under."

"Funny." She laid her head back against his shoulder, listening to his breath and counting the freckles that dotted his neck. Sherlock was being awfully quiet, even for him. During dinner, he'd hardly said a word. He sat at the table, Scarlett curled in the crook of his arm as he used one hand to hold her bottle to her mouth and only stirred when she gave a protesting cry when the bottle slipped, pouring warm formula down her front. "Are you all right?"

"Mmm…" he hummed, taking another draw from the cigarette.

"I thought you were going to quit."

"I did."

Molly shook her head and decided not to press the issue. It wouldn't do for them to have a fight on their one night of alone time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clock on the wall. 10:34pm. "I hope Scarlett is down. If she's not gone by 9 she won't sleep. And then tomorrow will be so pleasant."

"I'm sure she is."

Molly smiled and dripped water over the back of Sherlock's hand. "I know it's silly, but I miss them. I mean, I've been waiting with bated breath all week for this night to be alone with you, but now that we're here…" She sighed and pulled his arm around her waist. "I miss them."

"Aren't you having a good time?" he asked.

"Oh of course I am," she said. "And I fully intend to have more fun in a bit." She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously. "But I keep thinking about that sweet giggle that Scarlett does when you kiss her feet. And how Gabriel is so snuggly when he's tired. He always smells so good right out of the bath and I love when he crawls up in my lap and falls asleep. He makes those little noises in his sleep that's almost like talking, but not quite. It's the same ones you make, you know."

"Mmm…" he hummed again.

Molly sat up and turned slightly so she could look at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You've been quiet ever since the wedding. Well… except for…"

"I'm fine. Just thinking." He shifted and smashed out the cigarette. "And cold." He nudged Molly and slid out from under her. She watched as he stood up and pulled a towel around his waist.

Something was most definitely up. She rose from the bathtub and stepped out carefully, following him into the bedroom. "You're a liar, Mr. Holmes. Please don't make me pull out the excellent deduction skills I learned from this amazing website." She gracefully reclined across the ruined bed and gazed up at him sweetly.

"Look, I didn't want to mention it tonight. Tonight is supposed to be about you," he sighed.

"Uhm… and I'm having such a great time watching you wander silently through your mind palace and then occasionally letting you fall on top of me."

He looked stung. "Are you saying I haven't satisfied you so far?"

"Not at all. As I've told you many times, you're a very thorough lover. But it's not all about me and you are obviously distracted. So just tell me what the hell is wrong with you so I can get hysterical, drink a bottle of wine and have a torrid affair with the showerhead."

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head and pacing back and forth in that nervous, frantic way he did. "Look, the reason I was late this evening was because… well… I had a visit from someone I didn't expect."

"Oh…kay… so who was it? Mycroft? Why didn't he stay?"

"It wasn't Mycroft."

"Oh. Well then… who was it?" She giggled, "Jim from IT?"

"That's not funny."

"Sure it is. Obviously you know nothing about my sense of humor."

Sherlock sighed. "Irene Adler."

Molly immediately stopped laughing and sat up on the bed. "Irene Adler? As in the dead dominatrix Irene Adler? As in Misses Not Her Face, Irene Adler? As in biological mother of Gabriel, Irene Adler?"

"Yes."

"I thought she was dead."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was very much alive when she showed up at Ambergris this afternoon." He went to the balcony door and leaned in the doorway, looking down on the dark beach below.

"Well… what did she want?"

"She wants to see Gabriel."

Molly got up and grabbed Sherlock's shirt that lay disheveled across the chair and pulled it around her shoulders. She held it closed as she sidled up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her chest against his back. "God, baby… I'm sorry. Where the hell has she been? I thought in her letter, she told you that she was terminally ill."

"She did. She was. But apparently she has nine lives. Or a fucking guardian angel, because there she was." He clasped Molly's hand tightly in his.

She couldn't help but feel a twinge in her chest. It wasn't exactly worry. She knew that Sherlock loved her and that he had chosen her, but the thought of The Woman filled her with jealous dread. Molly was not glamorous or flashy. She didn't wear sexy clothes or spend hours on her hair and makeup. She was just Molly. Mousey Molly. The weird girl that liked to play with dead things. "So are you going to let her?"

"Let her what?"

"Let her see Gabriel?"

"I told her that I would bring him to see her tomorrow afternoon. She's going to have tea with us at The Albatross."

Molly let her arms fall to her sides and stood back. "You told her what?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"This will really go much faster if you can stop having me repeat everything," Sherlock sighed. "Of course I told her that she could see Gabriel. She's his mother. What was I supposed to do, Molly? She knows where we live and she's proven in the past that she's not above breaking in."

"You could have discussed it with me before you just said yes!" she shouted.

"Discussed it with you?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Yes! You could have at least asked me my opinion before you just invited her into our lives!"

"I'm not inviting her into our lives! I'm allowing her to see her child!"

"No, you're allowing her to see _our_ child. Or don't you remember? Gabriel calls _me_ mum! You yourself said that I was the only mother he'd ever known, but I don't even get the opportunity to have input?"

"I was trying not to ruin _your_ wedding day!" Sherlock shouted. "Everything I've done today has been for you!"

"Oh really? As if this whole thing has just been another something you do to appease me so I'll give you what you want! Just like always!"

"I didn't mean it like that," he sighed. Molly went to the wardrobe and pulled out the overnight bag, searching through it until she found her blue jeans and began pulling them on. "Molly… what are you doing?"

"Going home."

"Oh come on, Molly. Don't be like that. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would upset you."

She snickered, jerking up the zipper and pushing her hair back. "Really? Mr. Genius Detective couldn't manage to deduce that I'd be angry when he hides his dead ex-girlfriend from me and then invites her to tea so she can completely disrupt our lives? Not to mention confuse the shit out of our child. Oh wait… I guess he's _your_ child, not _our_ child since I get no say in what happens to him whatsoever!"

"Why are you so angry, Molly? This is just stupid," he sighed. "She just wants to see him. She doesn't want to make him stay with her or have any sort of regular contact with her, she just wants to see him."

"Yeah, like she had no intentions of blackmailing anyone with that stupid camera phone!"

He pulled at his hair in frustration. "Oh hell! That was ages ago! And she wouldn't have a leg to stand on anyway. She's been legally dead for several years. Her parental rights expired ages ago."

"And you know this how?"

"I called Mycroft when I went out to smoke at dinner. Trust me, she has no claims to Gabriel."

"Then there's no problem—"

"Except that not letting her see him would be cruel."

"You never had problems with cruelty before," Molly grumbled. "Or maybe she does still have some kind of hold over you." She jerked her shoes on her feet. "It doesn't really matter. Do whatever you want. But I won't be there to see it."

"Molly…"

"No." The sound of the slamming door hung in the room long after she was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Here you are, kids! I hope you enjoy! Thanks for all the reads and reviews. You've made my day at work go by so quickly! *big kisses***

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Gabe and Scarlett.**

The house was mercifully dark when Molly arrived back at Ambergris. She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't want to have to explain why she was home without Sherlock. Honestly, she'd held out hope that he would come after her, but no such luck. When she got to the sidewalk out front, she even waited for a few minutes before it dawned on her that he was not going to sweep down the stairs and demand that she come back. Not knowing what else to do, she hailed a cab.

She crept into the lounge, moving catlike through the shadows, keenly aware of any signs of life. Once she reached the stairs, she heard a few soft noises: light snoring, a television, people laughing on the beach. Fortunately, no one peeping down the hallway. Molly sniffled and felt miserable tears rising in the back of her throat once more. Damnit. She'd blubbered all the way from the hotel, prompting the cabbie to ask her more than once if she was okay. Despite her assurances that she was, nothing could be further from the truth. Emptiness, jealousy, loneliness and even a little guilt all swirled around inside of her, making her feel sick. She wanted Sherlock, but she couldn't bring herself to repent and go crawling back to the hotel. "I'm not wrong," she scolded herself. "Why should I apologize?" But she was almost willing to swallow her pride if it meant that they would be okay again. She shouldn't be here, on their wedding night, sulking about on her own.

Molly made her way down the hall to Mrs. Hudson's room. She carefully opened the door, not wanting to disturb anyone. Peeking inside, she saw that the older woman was well asleep even though the television flickered in the corner. She must have left it on for Scarlett. The light, anyway. Molly crept around the bed to the portable cot where Scarlett lay. As she approached, the baby yawned sleepily and rubbed her chubby little hand across her nose. Molly smiled and leaned over, pulling Scarlett out of the cot and into her arms. She started to make a small noise, but Molly shushed her softly. "Don't wake up Mrs. Hudson," she whispered, carrying the child out of the room carefully. By the time they reached Molly and Sherlock's bedroom, Scarlett was fully awake and cooing at her mother.

"You weren't supposed to wake up," Molly said. She noticed that the little girl's face was flushed and her hair slightly damp. For a moment she was concerned that Scarlett might have a fever, but a gentle kiss to her forehead revealed that she was "as cool as a cucumber, you are." Scarlett grinned at her mum's sing-songing voice. "You must have been angry, then. Sweaty and weepy. Me too." Molly held her little one close as she disrobed, one-handed. As she unbuttoned her shirt, she caught the slightest hint of Sherlock's scent and she felt that heavy feeling in her chest again. Again, she wanted him so bad that it hurt and she opted to leave his shirt on. Scarlett must have sense it because she grabbed a fistful of the fabric and tugged gently. "I know, sweetie. Daddy should be here too, shouldn't he?" She went to the window and opened it, letting the cool breeze off the ocean comfort her. "He probably would be if your mum wasn't such an overreacting ninny. But I can hardly be blamed, can I?" Scarlett squealed and pulled a fistful of Molly's hair. "No, I can't be. After all, I'm scared to death for your brother." The little girl made a humming noise in answer. "Why? Well, Miss Not Her Face is known for being dangerous. She's not even supposed to be alive, you know."

She sat down on the bed and leaned back against the pillows, propping the baby on her knees. The little girl reached out, pawing at Molly's front and then launching herself forward to press her face against her mother's breast. "Uh oh… are we hungry? Didn't you eat before bed?" She giggled as the little girl made what Gabriel had described as 'yummy noises' as she moved her mouth against Molly's skin. She obliged, opening the shirt and laying it open so that she could press Scarlett's mouth to her chest. At first she was eager, suckling at Molly's breast as if she hadn't eaten in a thousand years. After a few moments, she got sleepy again, mostly just playing with the nipple between her lips and kneading at the soft flesh with her tiny fingers. "Owie, Scarlett," she giggled. "We need to clip your fingernails again."

Staring down at her daughter's hazel eyes, the tightness in her chest loosened just a bit. Examining her child had become Molly's favorite pastime of late. She could spend hours cataloguing and committing to memory every tiny pore. Her eyes were almost exactly the same shape as Sherlock's, but wider and when she looked at them she always had an expression of surprise. Scarlett's face was softer, though, like her mother, with a turned up nose and a light scattering of freckles on each cheek that were scarily reminiscent of the two little boys in the picture on the wall opposite. "You couldn't escape the hair, could you darling?" Molly whispered, fingering the little auburn ringlets that stood out all over. Mrs. Hudson had assured her that this was not her real hair. That this curly mess would fall out and her real hair would be straight as a stick and thick like her mother's. So far this had not happened. If anything, the curly hair had thickened and was getting redder each day. They weren't sure where the red had come from. Molly's hair was brown with a few strands of auburn threaded through that made it fiery in the sun, but all indicators were pointing to Scarlett having more than a few strands. Sherlock claimed it was just her personality coming through. That was certainly true enough. The little girl was only a few months old and had already exhibited symptoms of impatience and a short fuse. Everyone assumed that the temper was all Sherlock, but anyone who knew them intimately knew that Molly was the one with the temper. Sherlock was more of a volcano: slowly bubbling under the surface for ages until he exploded. And once the lava started to flow, the anger would ooze with an eerie calm. Gabriel was the same. Molly and Scarlett lost it easily and quickly, but just as fast the anger would be gone as they moved on to something else.

Molly smiled as the little girl gave a light snore, falling asleep with her little bow mouth open. She slid down in the bed, shifting Scarlett to lie flat beside her before curling around the child protectively. In minutes, both mother and child were sleeping soundly.

**OoOoOo**

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock stopped dead on the stairs at hearing Gabriel's voice behind him. "I thought you and mum were sleeping at the hotel tonight."

Sherlock turned to see Gabe standing at the foot of the staircase, a cup of milk in one hand. His hair was disheveled and he had obviously given up on his pajama trousers, so he stood there in his skully teeshirt and Batman underwear. This did nothing to hinder the intimidating glare he turned on his father. "Why are you awake?"

"I asked you first."

"I forgot something," Sherlock said.

"Nope."

"I wanted to make sure you were sleeping."

"Nope." Gabriel took a sip of his milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You can always try again. Third time's a charm, Mrs. Hudson says."

"Fine. Your mum and I had a fight. She came home. I came after her."

Gabriel shrugged. "I figured. She's in your room with Scarlett," he said, brushing past his father to tromp up the stairs. "I thought people weren't supposed to fight when they got married."

"People fight all the time," Sherlock replied, following the little boy. "Sometimes when it's most inconvenient."

Gabriel shrugged. "Maybe you should just say sorry."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't."

Gabriel shook his head, heaving an exasperated sigh. "You make things too complicated. When me and Katie get mad at each other, whoever started it says they're sorry. Then we make up."

Sherlock thought this over, slightly horrified that he was entertaining seven year old problem solving. "What if you can't agree on who started it?"

"Then we just count down and say it at the same time. Like _1…2…3… sorry!_"

"That's not a bad idea," Sherlock said, his clasping his hands in front of his mouth as he continued up the stairs.

"I know," Gabriel said with a yawn. "Night, Dad."

"Don't you want me to tuck you in?" Sherlock asked.

"Nah. You have other stuff to do," he replied, waving from his bedroom door. "Love you," he said, mid-yawn.

Sherlock smiled. "Love you more, child-thing."

As soon as Gabriel closed his bedroom door, save for a single crack, Sherlock slowly opened his own bedroom door and slipped inside. Molly was curled in a tight ball on her side of the bed. Scarlett, on the other hand, was splayed on her back, one hand braced on Molly's cheek. He smiled longingly as he went to the bed, grasping Scarlett gently by her feet and pulling her to the end of the bed. She didn't even stir as he scooped her up cradled her against his shoulder. He was slightly disoriented until he remembered that he and Gabriel had assembled the cot in Mrs. Hudson's room earlier in the evening. Quickly, he sneaked across the hall and deposited his sleeping daughter in her cot, praying that he wouldn't wake Mrs. Hudson. That would be a complicated and irritating conversation if he woke her up.

When he arrived back in the bedroom, though she was still curled up on her side, her brown eyes were wide open and waiting. "Oh… sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Molly replied. "Why aren't you at the hotel?"

"Because you weren't there. I would have been here sooner, but it took forever to get a cab."

"Oh."

"Congratulations, we're paying close to 400 pounds for a lovely room for our overnight bag to stay in." His smile reached his eyes this time and Molly returned it, scooting over so that he might climb into bed beside her. Making quick work of his clothes, he pulled the duvet back dramatically and slid under. Molly followed suit and situated herself in his embrace. He leaned in and kissed her nose. "I'm sorry, Molly. You were absolutely right. I should have talked to you first."

"No, I was overreacting. I'm sorry too. When you told me she was back, I immediately got my back up…"

"You have absolutely nothing to worry about from Irene Adler. As far as I'm concerned, anyway. I have no interest in her whatsoever, save for her interest in Gabriel."

"I know that. I'm really actually embarrassed that I reacted so strongly. But it really has nothing to do with whether I like her or you're attracted to her or whatever… I don't trust her, Sherlock. And I'm afraid of what she wants with Gabe."

"I don't think she wants anything. Just to see him and let him know she exists. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

"It doesn't matter anyway. That's all she's going to get. She said herself that her life is too scattered and dangerous for a child. That's how he ended up in St. Christopher's anyway." He pulled Molly close and tucked her head under his chin, stroking her hair lightly with his fingertips.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked after several moments.

"Yeah, Mouse?"

"Do you think Gabriel will like her more than me?" There it was. What had really been bothering her the most since she'd first learned of the visit.

"He doesn't even know her. Gabriel loves you and that's not going to change. I predict he'll be intrigued at first, probably confused and most definitely curious. But you're his mother."

Molly smiled. "I hope you're right."

"I always am." He pressed a kiss to her temple. She was quick to turn her head so their mouths collided.

**OoOoOo**

Gabriel's eyes were everywhere as they sat in the lounge at The Albatross. He'd never been in a restaurant like this before. Crystal chandeliers, white linen tablecloths, sparkling silverware laid out on the tables in the dining room (most of which he couldn't even identify what the utensils were used for): all of it was very different from the places that they usually took him to eat. He was kind of glad that he wouldn't have to go into the dining room. It looked like the kind of place that the Queen would eat and Gabriel wasn't sure he ever wanted to eat with the Queen. They were having tea in the lounge.

That morning, his dad had taken him out to the beach for a swim and had explained that they were going to tea to meet the lady who had carried him in her belly. Her name was Miss Adler and everybody thought she was dead. That's what they had told him anyway. He thought she'd gotten sick and left him with that awful lady at the convent, but as his father explained, she had recovered and now she wanted to meet him. A long time ago, he had really wished he could meet her. He used to dream about what she might be like, but now when faced with the reality, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He felt almost sick thinking about what she would think of him. Or what he would think of her. Would she make him come live with her? That was probably the scariest notion he'd entertained all morning. He didn't want to leave Baker Street. He loved his dad and mum. He had his toys and Cat and his baby sister. Katie lived just down the road. His John and his Mary and Izzy and Mrs. Hudson and Greg: he couldn't imagine his life without seeing them every day. What if this lady made him leave all of them?

He sat on the leather sofa in the lounge between his dad and mum. Everyone was quiet while they waited. They had made the executive decision to leave Scarlett at Ambergris with the others. He'd overheard Molly telling Mary that if there was some kind of outburst, she didn't want Scarlett to witness it. Gabriel shifted closer to Molly, nudging his head under her arm and at one point wrapping his arms around her waist. She was just as scared as him and he wanted to make sure she knew that she was his real mum. He stole a glance at Sherlock. He sat still as a statue, save for his fingertips that were rushing over the keypad on his phone. Gabe wondered what he was doing.

"Do you think she'll show up?" Molly whispered to Sherlock, trying not to let Gabriel hear.

"I told her this was her only chance," he replied, not looking up.

"Do you think she'll like me?" Gabriel asked.

"Of course she will, darling," Molly said, running her fingers through his hair.

"What should I call her?" Gabriel asked.

"Whatever you like, dear."

He smiled up at Molly. "I won't call her Mum. No matter what, okay?"

Molly giggled. "You can if you want to."

"She's not my mum though."

Sherlock sat up straight, looking suspiciously like he'd been struck by lightning. He stood up and offered his hand to Gabriel. He stared at his father's hand briefly, then gave Molly a squeeze before taking it and following his father. Molly looked unsure as to whether she should come along, but Sherlock waited.

The three of them made their way toward the tall thin woman that stood in the foyer of the restaurant. The one with the cold eyes and the deep red lips. "Hello Irene," Sherlock greeted her.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: All right kids, here you are... the reactions you've been waiting for! I hope they live up to your high expectations of me.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett.**

Irene smiled sweetly as they approached. Another mask, Sherlock thought. This time she had opted for a simple black suit and her hair hanging loose about her shoulders. He could see the scars of her age and illness clearly etched on her face and body this afternoon. All of the things she'd been trying to hide the previous day. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of peace offering, an attempt to look more maternal or just some other weird 'Irene-game.' "Sherlock," she said, reaching out to take his hands and pull him in to a chaste embrace. "Thank you for doing this."

He nodded and allowed her to kiss his cheek. He had to find a way to relax. If he was ill at ease with Irene, both Gabriel and Molly would be as well. The last thing he wanted to do was make the two of them uncomfortable. Well… more uncomfortable than they were already. Reaching behind, he pulled Molly into his side. "Irene Adler, this is –"

"Molly," Molly interrupted, offering her hand. "Molly Holmes." Sherlock smirked. Molly would not be a mouse today. It was exciting to see her assert herself by wearing her new surname like a suit of armor.

"My, you have been busy, Sherlock," Irene said as she shook Molly's hand. The two women made eye contact, neither one blinking. "You must indeed be something special, Mrs. Holmes."

"I like to think so," Molly replied.

Irene smiled and nodded before kneeling down gracefully so that she was on level with Gabriel. "And you must be Gabriel." The little boy pulled back slightly, keeping a hold of Sherlock's jacket and attempting to hide his face behind his hip. She chuckled softly. "How precious! He's shy," she said, glancing up at Sherlock.

Sherlock nudged him with his hip. "Say hello, Gabe."

"Hello," Gabriel replied almost inaudibly and looked up to his parents for reassurance that he could touch her. They nodded and he reached out to shake her hand.

Irene smiled and her eyes glistened as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She was still, holding on to Gabriel's hand and examining every nuance of his face, as if she couldn't quite comprehend that he was real. "Sherlock… he's… he's beautiful. I just can't take my eyes off of him." Gabriel wrinkled his nose, clearly not wanting to be called 'beautiful.' "He looks so much like you. I can hardly see myself at all."

"He makes faces that look very like you," Sherlock commented.

She grinned and brushed her fingertips lightly through his curls. "Gabriel, will you sit with me at tea?"

"Well… I…"

"It's all right, Gabriel," Molly said. "Miss Adler came all this way to see you." He nodded reluctantly and let Irene lead him into the tea room.

They must have looked like a very strange gathering indeed as they sat around the little table in a corner of the room overlooking the beach. The waitress came over and took their orders. "Dad, can we have biscuits?" Gabriel asked. Sherlock nodded and handed off the menu.

"Do you like biscuits, Gabriel?" Irene asked. "Which ones are your favorites?"

"Mrs. Hudson makes chocolate ones that I like the most," he replied, playing with his teaspoon.

"Mrs. Hudson? Oh yes, the old lady that owns the house," Irene said. "I think I remember her."

"You know where my flat is?"

"Oh yes." She giggled. "I can't believe you're still living in that dingy little flat on Baker Street, Sherlock."

"I happen to like that dingy little flat on Baker Street," Sherlock grumbled. "It's a little small with all of us living there, but I can't imagine leaving."

"Does John still live there too?"

"John and his wife, Mary—" Molly began.

"Wife? You mean John got married?" Irene chuckled. "And here I thought he was just holding out for you, Sherlock."

"Charming to the last," Sherlock replied through a thin-lipped smile. As if by Divine Intervention, the waitress reappeared with a pot of tea and a tray of biscuits, distracting them from conversation for a few precious moments. Irene started to pour a cup of tea for Gabriel, but Molly beat her to the pot. She poured Gabe a cup of tea and let him put a bit of milk into it.

"Where's the honey?" Gabriel asked.

"There isn't any honey. Just use sugar," Sherlock said, handing him the bowl of sugar cubes. Gabriel shrugged and began piling cubes into his teacup until Molly stopped him.

"So tell me all about you, Gabriel," Irene said. "Tell me every little thing. How old are you?"

Gabriel stirred his tea. "I'm seven. Well, almost. I'll be seven next month."

"Seven! Wow. You're such a big boy. The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny little baby."

"You saw me?"

"Of course I did, precious. The second you were born. You had quite a set of lungs, if I recall." She laughed at the memory. "Your little face got so red and I asked the nurse if you would burst something if you kept on like that. You looked a bit like your dad then too, you know."

"I did?"

"Yes. You had a head full of curly black hair even then."

Gabriel blushed and slid down in his seat a little. He used his spoon to scoop tea into his mouth, slurping until he cast a glance in his father's direction. Sherlock shook his head, mouthing "no." He sat up again and pushed his cup aside. "My sister has curly hair too, but it's reddish."

"Your sister?" Irene asked, coughing as she sucked tea down her throat unexpectedly.

"Yeah. My baby sister, Scarlett. She's… uhm…" Gabriel looked back at Molly. "How old is Scarlett?"

"Three months," Molly replied.

Irene chewed lightly on her lower lip and Sherlock could tell that she was trying desperately not to laugh or give any sign of her disbelief. He understood that his newfound domesticity was difficult for some to take, especially a person whom he'd known at a time in his life that was particularly turbulent. "I just can't believe how much you've changed, Sherlock," she said, turning her gaze on him. "What was that you said about sentiment? Something about a chemical defect?"

"You of all people should know how much I enjoy chemical defects," Sherlock replied cooly, wishing for all the world he had a cigarette.

Irene ignored him, instead turning her attention back to Gabriel. "So, Gabriel, do you go to school?"

"Yes."

"But not boarding school?"

"Nope. I like my school, but I don't want to sleep there."

She smiled. "What's your favorite thing to do at school?"

"Science is my favorite. But I like to read too."

"Reading is important. What sorts of books?"

"All kinds, I guess. I'm reading Harry Potter right now and also a book about dinosaurs."

"How can you read two books at the same time?" Irene asked with a chuckle.

"Duh. I have one by my bed and the other one in my bookbag for school." He smiled and shook his head. "And the Harry Potter book, my dad is usually reading to me. He does awesome voices."

"Really?" Irene asked, suddenly very interested.

"His Voldemort is scarier than the guy in the movie." Gabriel reached for a biscuit. "Anyway, I like school. My teacher this year isn't as good as Miss Winslow, but he's okay."

"You have a man teacher this year?"

"Yeah, Mr. Scott. Dad doesn't like him much because he likes mum a lot."

"That's not true," Molly and Sherlock said in unison.

"Yes it is, Mum. He's always asking about you. Anyway, he says I could probably skip a year if I wanted to, but I like being in the same class with Katie."

"Who is Katie?"

"She's my best friend." Gabriel shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. "She lives down the street from us. She was supposed to be moving back to America with her mum and dad, but then her gram decided to move over here instead. She has a new little brother."

Irene looked wistful. Her countenance was almost sad as she gazed up at Sherlock. As if she were coming to terms with all of the regret that had been bubbling, just out of reach of reality for all these years. "He seems very happy with you, Sherlock. And you, Molly." She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dotted her eyes, trying to look unobtrusive about it.

"Are you sad, Miss Adler?" Gabriel asked.

"No, darling," she said, putting her kerchief aside and offering Gabriel a wide, put on smile. "But you mustn't call me Miss Adler."

"Then what do I call you?" he asked matter of factly.

"Oh… well… whatever you want. Irene or even Mum if you like."

Gabriel cut a sideways glance toward his parents and clasped Molly's hand under the table. "I can't call you Mum."

"Why not?"

"You aren't my mum," Gabriel said with a completely serious expression. There was no malice there or anger, just simple truth. "Doctor Molly's my mum and if I called you and her mum then it would confuse my sister too. So I'll just call you Irene I guess." He shrugged and gulped the rest of his tea.

Irene nodded. "Whatever you want, dear." She looked a little hurt and looked helplessly at Sherlock. "But no, I'm not sad." She chuckled. "I bet you're going to be a detective like your dad when you grow up."

Gabriel wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No way. I think I'd be too scared that people would shoot at me. I think I'd rather be a doctor like my John and my mum. But maybe for animals instead. Or maybe a famous musician!"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I play the violin really good, don't I, Dad?"

"You're a regular prodigy, Gabriel," Sherlock replied.

"My teacher says I'm the best of all the kids my age that she teaches. I have a solo in the recital next month." He looked back at Sherlock and Molly quizzically. "You can come if you want to."

Irene smiled. "I'll certainly try."

"I think next I'll try playing the piano. Katie takes piano lessons but she hates it. Mary says it shouldn't be too hard for me because I already know how to read the music. Can you read music, Irene?"

She giggled. "Not at all. But why do you have a violin teacher? If I remember correctly, your father was a very accomplished musician."

"He's too fussy. I tried to get him to help me with my solo and he yelled at me."

"Sherlock!" Irene exclaimed, feigning shock.

"He wasn't listening to what I was trying to tell him," Sherlock replied, trying to defend himself. "And Scarlett was wailing in my ear at the same time."

Gabriel giggled. "She usually likes it when we play, but I kept making mistakes and it was making her mad." He was wiggling in his seat and finally looked up at Sherlock. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I have to use the bathroom."

Sherlock sighed. "Can't you wait?"

"Noooo…" he whined. "I have to go nooww…"

Sherlock sighed and looked to Molly who finally piped up. "Go ahead," she said, plastering a smile on her small, devious mouth. "Miss Adler and I will be just fine on our own for a few minutes." She watched as they disappeared across the restaurant and into the men's toilet. "Well, it's finally nice to meet you after all this time, Miss Adler."

"Irene, please…"

"No. I don't think so. Miss Adler will do fine for now." Molly leaned forward, taking another calm sip of her tea. "I'm not exactly sure what you're up to, here. I'd like to think that you're here on an honorable mission to see how your offspring has been doing all this time. As a mother, I understand that motivation completely. But, also, as a mother I can't even comprehend leaving my child at birth. Either of them."

"Look, I don't expect you to understand…"

"I wasn't asking you to. I'm just letting you know that I love the two of them and our daughter more than anything else on this earth and I'm willing to do anything… _anything_… to protect the life we've created for ourselves. I just wanted you to be aware of that fact in case this is some desperate ploy to weasel back into Sherlock's life."

"I would never—"

"And who could blame you? You were a fool to let him slip away the first time. But that's neither here nor there. Just know that I am a pathologist and very aware of how to make you disappear if you ever hurt either of them again." Molly exhaled and pasted a sunny smile on her face. "And now we can move on."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hey kids! Sorry this took so long. I was at a writing convention all weekend and it nearly killed me. I'm also in the middle of editing my next novel, which will be out in the middle of next month! Squee! Just kind of a fluffy/ angsty chapter to get you through your Wednesday! I'm so glad you all enjoyed that last chapter! Thanks for all of your reading, review and support. You make my day!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett.**

Several months passed and everything was quiet. Relatively speaking. Irene had been as good as her word, showing up at Gabriel's recital and then quietly disappearing. She called from time to time, but otherwise she was behaving. Gabriel seemed fairly indifferent to the whole thing. He was sweet and attentive to her when she called, but he didn't miss her. They had been expecting him to lash out strangely or insist on being able to see her, but as of yet he had shown no signs of damage from Irene's reappearance.

Scarlett, on the other hand, was incurring more damage every day. At just under ten months she was determined to walk, no matter what obstacles might stand in her way. The greatest of those obstacles was balance. She could pull herself up, and did, on every available object regardless of whether or not it would support her weight. Sherlock was sure she was going to have brain damage from all the blows to the head. In the last few weeks, she'd crashed into the refrigerator, nearly tumbled down the stairs, fallen over the dog who then stepped on her head trying to get away and hit her face so hard on the coffeetable that she had a black eye. All of this made her explosively angry. She didn't scream so much as roar at her foes and then looked at her mother and father as if they were the ones behind this evil villainy. Scarlett's partner in crime was Isabel Watson. Already an accomplished walker, they were convinced that Izzy was carrying out Scarlett's nefarious orders: stealing Sherlock's mobile, acquiring Gabriel's homework papers from his dresser and coloring all over them with his crayons—all sorts of things that a ten month old would never accomplish on her own. However, Scarlett's lack of walking ability hadn't slowed her down in the slightest. On her knees, she could shuffle across the floor like a tiny destructor tank, taking out anyone or anything in her way.

Everyone was having to adjust. Even the clients had grown used to finding the famous detective and his sidekick at Baker Street with two toddling girls squealing and tugging at their fathers' trouser legs. One woman who was convinced that her husband was having an affair with an angel, told her entire story to Sherlock whilst he tried to shovel food into Scarlett's mouth. Amazingly, he was able to get the story, solve the mystery without leaving the flat and tell the woman off in his normally snarky fashion all while feeding Scarlett her lunch of bananas and broken up peanut butter sandwich. Even Sally Donovan couldn't deny his surprisingly exceptional skills. She could only stand by and watch as he briefed an inspector in Dublin via Skype in Lestrade's office while changing Scarlett in his lap. When he was through, he noticed that she was watching him.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked.

She started to laugh, shaking her head. "I have to hand it to you, Freak. You're expert at that."

He turned to look at Sally, his eyebrow raised. "So, after all the amazing feats of cerebral fitness you've seen me do, changing a nappy is what impresses you?"

Sally shrugged, looking to Greg for assistance. "Well… yeah, I guess so."

**OoOoOo**

Meanwhile, as Sherlock was settling into his new role of Superdad, Molly was having issues. At the lab, they were down a technician and a pathologist and she had been working hard to pick up the slack. Weeks before, she had made the decision to begin weaning Scarlett completely because it was becoming too much. She worked all day, sometimes six days a week. She'd had to go in to work in the middle of the night more and more frequently and was working overtime more than she would like. Mrs. Hudson and Mary had been wonderful about helping out with Scarlett and Gabe while she was working, but the stress was starting to get to her. She missed her baby who seemed to be growing up without her.

It was no surprise to anyone when Scarlett started to talk. Of course, she wasn't reciting Lord Byron or anything, but it was impressive just the same. Molly was at the lab with her hand in some guy's stomach when her mobile began to ring. Normally, at a time like this, she'd just let it go, but from her vantage point she could see Sherlock's number flashing on her screen. That could mean that he couldn't find the milk again or that something was wrong with Scarlett. She'd better answer. The last time she'd ignored a call from Sherlock, her daughter had ended up at a crime scene.

"Hello?" she shouted into the phone.

"Molly?"

"Yes? What do you want, Sherlock. I'm kind of up to my elbows in internal organs."

"Of course you are. Why else would you be on speaker phone?" he answered haughtily. "Anyway, I had to call you so you could hear this." She could hear Gabriel, John, Mary and Scarlett giggling in the background. There was a crackling noise as Sherlock moved the phone and evidently set it down on the table. There was movement and she laughed, hearing Sherlock cooing and coaxing Scarlett in his low rumble.

"Who is this, Scar?" Gabriel's voice.

She squealed and giggled in response. Molly started to become annoyed that they had interrupted her to listen to Scarlett squeal. She always squealed and it was adorable, but not while she was trying to extract the stomach contents of a murder victim. And then, she heard the little one exclaim, "Da!" The others cheered and clapped, so she said it again. "Da!" Soon Isabel joined in until both of them were shouting "Da!" repeatedly.

"Oh, darling that's wonderful!" Molly exclaimed into the phone, laughing and clapping with the others. "Sherlock!"

He picked up the phone off of the table and answered. "Isn't she brilliant?"

"Of course she is," Molly sighed, trying to keep the melancholy from her voice. "Absolutely brilliant."

**OoOoOo**

A couple of weeks later, Scarlett had expanded her vocabulary to include: Da, Muh, Bre (her name for Gabriel), gog (which, as far as they could tell was 'dog' since she would crawl after Cat screaming it) and Nee for Mrs. Hudson. John and Mary were known collectively as Jam. They weren't really sure how she'd decided on that, but whenever one of them came into the room, Scarlett would shriek, "Jam!" and hug them. This never failed to provoke Izzy, who did not like sharing her parents with others and would shout angrily at Scarlett or attempt clonking her whenever she felt her parents were being violated. Molly's gloomy mood had not improved much whenever she was at work. She longed to be at home playing with Scarlett or snuggling with Gabriel, but she kept on a brave face as much as possible. She didn't want anyone to know how jealous she was of her husband who seemed to catch every important moment of their daughter's development while she was stuck in a lab with dead people who couldn't appreciate her. Or how much she was starting to resent her job. Or how sad it made her whenever they called her at the lab to tell her another of Scarlett's amazing feats.

"Dr. Holmes!" Markus, the intern, shouted late one afternoon. "Come quick!" He sounded alarmed and Molly immediately sprung to action, pulling her lab coat around her shoulders and bursting from her office. She followed him down to the ambulance bay where orderlies swarmed this way and that. The noise of two ambulances arriving at the hospital made it hard to hear and her ears were ringing with the screaming sirens.

"What happened?" she shouted at one of the paramedics as she rushed to help him pull another heavily laden gurney from the back of an ambulance.

"A fire at a children's home," he answered. That was when she noticed that the gurneys being brought in were loaded with zipped black bags. Of course. These were the victims of the fire being brought to the morgue. She helped them bring in four victims in total. All children.

Hours later, Molly looked up and realized that it was well after the end of her shift. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. These were the days when she regretted her choice of profession. Most times, the "patients" on her slabs were adults but today she had processed four children ranging in age from three to twelve. Just babies who had barely begun to live. Babies who, like Gabriel, had been brought into the world unwanted and had never had the chance to know the unconditional love of a parent. It just made her so sad and suddenly she couldn't get home fast enough. She needed to hug her children and tell them how much she loved them.

When she reached Baker Street and began climbing the stairs, she suddenly remembered it was Tuesday night. She could hear the voices of Sherlock, John, Mary and all the others chattering upstairs. Then, Gabriel's gasping laugh—someone was obviously subjecting him to tickle torture. She was literally mesmerized as she stood in the doorway, staring into the lounge. Mrs. Hudson sat on the couch, bouncing Izzy on her lap as Gabriel and Sherlock played turbo chess on the coffee table . Mary and John were the first to acknowledge her as they stood in the kitchen filling glasses with ice. "Oh hi, Mols," Mary began. "We were beginning to think you weren't coming home tonight."

"Mum!" Gabriel exclaimed, jumping up and running to embrace her. "Come on! You have to see what Scarlett can do!"

She smiled and lifted the boy up, squeezing him tight. "Oh yeah? What can Scarlett do today?"

He looked over his shoulder at Sherlock. "Can we show her, Dad?"

"It's an imperative," Sherlock replied, knocking over Gabe's king and wiggling his eyebrows. "Checkmate."

"No fair!" Gabriel exclaimed, wriggling from Molly's grasp to run toward the coffee table. "You can't win while I'm not at the table!"

"Where is that written?" Sherlock asked. "You were too slow. I believe I beat you in six minutes, thirty-seven seconds this time. A new record!" Gabriel's expression was stormy as he stood there with his hands on his hips, prepared to protest. "Weren't you going to show Molly something?"

He lit up. "Yes! You have to help me, though."

"Well someone show me before I burst!" Molly said, hanging her coat on the rack by the door.

Sherlock picked Scarlett up from where she was sitting in her playpen playing with her stacking blocks. Or chewing on them. As soon as she saw Molly, she squealed and reached for her. "Muh!"

"You can see her in a minute, Scar," Gabriel said, kneeling down on the rug. Sherlock knelt opposite him a few meters away and set Scarlett on her feet. "Come on, Scarlett. Walk to me!"

"Bre!" Scarlett exclaimed, giggling as she wobbled on her feet.

"That's right, Scar! Come on! Come to Bre!" Gabriel coaxed.

The little girl looked over her shoulder and grinned at Sherlock, reaching her tiny little hand out to him. He took her fingertip lightly and guided her as she toddled toward Gabriel, stumbling on his knees. Just as she reached her brother, Scarlett tumbled forward but Gabe was quick and scooped her up before she hit the ground. "Bre!" she squealed once more, giggling madly.

"Yay, Scar!" Gabriel praised as everyone clapped. Except for Isabel, who seemed unimpressed. "Clever girl!" He looked up at Molly. "Did we teach her right, Mum?"

Molly nodded and laughed, reaching out to take Scarlett from him. "Good girl, Scarlett!" She hugged the little one tightly, kissing all over her forehead and cheeks until she shrieked happily.

"Muh!"

"When did she start doing this?" Molly asked.

Sherlock stood up to embrace them, kissing first Molly and then Scarlett. "She just pulled up on the table and walked over to Gabriel when he came in from school. I wish I'd been fast enough to get it on my phone, but it happened so fast."

"She was probably waiting for a moment when no one was watching. Or so she thought," Mary interjected. "That's what happened with Izzy." Everyone continued chattering, but Molly tuned them out. She was so angry with herself for feeling this way, but she couldn't bring herself to join in their jubilation about Scarlett surpassing yet another milestone without her. That, combined with the profundity of her experience at work that day was just too much. She could feel that tight burning behind her eyes and in her chest. She was about to burst into tears and she didn't want to spoil everyone's fun by doing it in front of them. She should be happy. _They_ should be happy.

"I… uhm… I'd better change before Greg gets here with pizza," Molly said, passing Scarlett over to Sherlock.

"You okay?" he whispered in her ear, then kissed lightly at her temple as he took the baby.

She nodded, whipping her ponytail around to keep her red eyes shielded. "Just a little tired. Maybe I'll take a quick bath too." She didn't wait for him to answer before rushing down the hallway and into the bedroom.

**OoOoOo**

When Molly didn't come back after forty-five minutes, Sherlock started to worry. She didn't seem to be nearly as elated over Scarlett's first steps as he'd thought she'd be. It wasn't any wonder, really. She was clearly exhausted from all of the extra hours at the morgue. He'd also anticipated some kind of emotional reaction given the news about the fire in Smithfield earlier. He'd read that they were taking victims to the surrounding hospitals. That would imply that the dead kids were probably transported to Bart's for processing and identification. Molly did not share his detachment for the dead. Especially dead children. While this made her an incredibly thorough and compassionate pathologist, it was not particularly good for her emotional state.

The bedroom door was closed and he didn't knock as he opened it slowly, trying not to let it creak. Molly sat on the edge of the bed with her back to the door. She had not changed from her work clothes yet and her purse was still draped over her shoulder. She stared out of the window, but he could see the glistening streaks of old tears on her cheeks and hear her shuddery breath. "Molly?"

She turned fast, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and rubbing her nose, still red. "What is it?" she asked, putting on that fake, cheerful tone.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Possibly because you've been sitting here with your sweater and purse on, unmoving for almost an hour."

She gave a nod and a wan smile. "I just got distracted I guess," she sniffed. "I'll be out in just a minute."

"Dinner is here. Do you want me to feed Scarlett?"

She shook her head and rose from the bed. "No, you've been taking care of her all day. It's my turn." She made her way around the bed, kicking her shoes off under the edge. As she did so, she stubbed her toe hard on the leg of the bedframe and cried out in pain. This only brought those tears that had been so close to the surface, roaring in once more and she began to sob again.

Sherlock rushed over as she sat down on the end of the bed. "Molly! What did you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she wailed, hiding her face in her hands.

"You're _not_ fine. That's obvious."

"Yes I am!" she breathed. "It's just… stupid. Damn bedframe!" As soon as he sat down beside her, she threw her arms around his neck and melted against him. He wound his arms around her and pulled her closer until she was nearly perched on his lap. She wept against the crook of his neck as he soothed her gently. After several minutes, she sniffled. "I'm missing everything. I'm a terrible mother."

"Why on Earth would you think that?" he asked. "You're an incredible mother, Molly."

"No I'm not," she sobbed. "My baby can walk and talk and I've missed it all! And all because of that stupid morgue! What does a morgue matter anyway? Those people are already dead, Sherlock!" Suddenly, a rush of quicksilver anger shot through her blood. "Once they get there, I can't save them anyway, so what difference does it make? But my own children are alive and I'm missing it!"

"You aren't missing it, Mols," Sherlock said.

"Yes I am! She didn't even say my name first!"

She was close to hysterics. He decided that it would be best to remain the calm participant in the discussion. "You do realize that she's not really saying our names. She's making noises and mimicking what the people around her do."

"That's shit, Sherlock, and you know it! If I point to you, she says 'da' and if I point to Gabriel, she says 'bre'. She knows what she's saying!" She sighed, sniffling again. "Let's face it. She only says 'muh' because Gabriel drilled it in her. And who can blame her for not knowing me. I'm never fucking here! I spend my life at Bart's where nothing I do matters at all. I'm just a stupid… silly… nothing."

Sherlock took her firmly by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Molly Hooper Holmes! You stop that _right_ now," he said. His tone was stern and shocked her a bit. "You could never be 'nothing.' What you do at Bart's matters a great deal. You give dignity and justice to those people that come into the morgue and compassion to their families. You train students to not only do the same, but to learn to save people's lives. You saved mine, you know."

"That was different…"

"And as for your own children, they miss you every second that you aren't here, but you aren't damaging them. Gabriel is so proud of what you do and Scarlett will be too. So what if you missed a few words or steps. She'll be doing that stuff for the rest of her life."

"But it won't be the first time," Molly replied. "I wanted to see it the first time. To be able to scoop her up in my arms and squeeze her."

"There will be so many firsts, Mol."

"And I'll miss those too…"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, trying to think of something to say that she couldn't shoot down. "Molly…do you want to quit?"

"Quit what?"

"Quit Bart's. If you feel really strongly that you're unhappy, then quit."

Molly thought this over for a moment. Obviously she had not expected this solution. "We can't do that."

"Of course we can. If it's about money, it shouldn't be. First, that's a trivial thing and second, money isn't an issue." He paused, a terrifying revelation creeping in. "Of course… how would I get access to the lab…"

Molly smirked. "Nice that you're thinking only of me."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hey kids! It's been a while, but I'm back with more Gabriel and yes... it's official... Scarlett can talk. Lord help us all! Have fun! Remember: Reviews are food for creative thought!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett and Cat the dog.**

Balance is a funny thing. Sometimes it feels so out of reach. The chaos of one's life spirals ever onward, threatening to be out of control at every turn until finally you're drowning in a bubbling stew of work, responsibility and life. And then, one day when you least expect it, the scales tip, and balance is achieved. By the time Scarlett was nearly two, balance had been restored, both sides of the scale at precisely the zero mark with Sherlock and Molly dancing gracefully on the fulcrum. The turnaround began when Molly cut back her hours in the lab and started teaching more. "The key to successful management is delegation," Sherlock had said. "You have to start giving other people jobs, Molly. You can't do everything." John snorted, reminding Sherlock that: one, he was not his manager and two, delegation didn't mean that he gave orders for others to carry out. Sherlock countered that this was exactly what delegation meant and even went so far as to google it for his friend's perusal. The conversation quickly descended toward violence until Scarlett stepped in. Like her mother, she was ever the peacemaker.

"Daddy! Too loud!" she would scold, stepping between them. Her auburn hair bounced in a tangle of ringlets around her shoulders as she shook her tiny finger at them. "No shout ina house!"

"Quite right, Peaseblossom," Sherlock replied, scooping her up and spinning the little girl around until she was giggling madly. There was definitely no doubt to the child's lineage. It became more apparent with each passing month. Like Gabriel, Scarlett was a spitting image of Sherlock with her unruly curls and sharp features, but her personality and demeanor became more like Molly every day. Especially the part where she could tell off her father with a bat of eyelashes. "I'm going to get into trouble with Mummy, aren't I?"

"Say sorry, Daddy."

"Sorry, Daddy," Sherlock replied sarcastically with a sneer toward John.

The only thing Scarlett loved more than scolding her father and uncle was Gabriel. Mycroft had been quite right when he assured the boy that he would be idolized by his sibling. If Gabriel was at home, Scarlett was his shadow. Most times, this was a source of great pride and joy for the nine year old boy, but other times he wished that there were some sort of extractive surgery that one could get for baby sisters. "Dad! Make her leave me alone!" Gabriel frequently whined as he tromped through the flat. Scarlett would be right on his heels, trailing after him.

**OoOoOo**

"Bre play!" Scarlett fussed. It was date night for their parents and Scarlett was already bored. She had played with Izzy until they got angry with one another, helped Mary in the kitchen and watched Dr. Who with John. Her two year old attention span was no longer satisfied, it was still an hour until dinner and she looked to Gabriel for entertainment. She stood in front of her brother with Sherlock's skull, wrapped in her favorite pink baby blanket, clutched in her arms.

"I don't want to play today, Scarlett. I have to practice my violin." This was usually his excuse when he wanted his sister to go away. The high-pitched notes hurt her ears and for this reason, she was terrified of the instrument.

"No, Bre. Play with baby," she replied, pointing at her chest. She often referred to herself in the third person.

"You aren't a baby," Gabriel sighed, taking his violin from the case.

"Uh huh. Scar-baby," she said, attempting to climb onto the sofa beside him. Her wobbly center of gravity caused her to slide down twice, nearly tumbling to the floor before Gabriel caught her by the back of the overalls and hoisted her up. "Bre play!" she said again, shoving the skull into his arms.

"No, Scarlett. I don't want to play," he said, unwrapping the skull. "And Dad's going to kill you if he catches you using his skull for a doll."

She jerked it back, her lip poked out. "Skully my baby!"

"No," Gabriel said. "Skully is not your baby. It's Dad's and I don't think he wants you to play with it, Scarlett. He's told you a million times." He pulled it back from her, his violin momentarily forgotten.

"Scar is Daddy's baby! Not skully!" She pulled on the skull again, but this time Gabriel wasn't letting go. Back and forth they tugged, knocking sheet music and blankets off the couch as they wrestled for possession of the skull. A dissonant screech sounded as the violin slid off the edge of the sofa and hit the floor, followed by the case. Neither noticed in their struggle until John cleared his throat from the doorway. Both started and the skull went flying across the room to crash against the mantle and onto the hearth. "Oooh… Bre… you broked Daddy's skully."

"I did not! John!" Gabriel exclaimed, jumping up. "I was telling her to stop!"

"You took Skully baby from me!" Scarlett wailed, starting to cry.

John sighed and made his way into the room toward the fireplace. Isabel was toddling behind him, giggling. She loved it when someone else was in trouble. He knelt down and picked up the skull, surveying the damage. Miraculously, it wasn't shattered, but one of the teeth was missing and there was a large, jagged crack from the corner of the eye socket to the nose hole.

Gabriel scrambled off the couch to where John was knelt, carefully pushing Izzy to the side. "Is it br—oh… no. That's not good is it?"

"A bit not good, yes," John replied.

Scarlett had tumbled off the couch and was toddling over to them when Izzy laughed and pointed at Scarlett, then chanting, "Scarlett's in trouble…"

"I not!" Scarlett said, her voice watery with tears. "I not in trouble, am I, Bre?" She sniffled and tugged at the end of Gabriel's button-up. Ironically, though the fight with her brother was the cause of her woes, Scarlett was confident that he would protect her from the wrath of their father.

"Uhm…" Gabriel stammered, watching as another tooth fell out of the dry socket. "John? Can we fix it?"

"If we could find all the missing pieces," he replied, sounding doubtful. Soon all of them were crawling around on the living room rug, looking for a tooth and shards of bone matter. Gabriel even used his magnifier to go over the floor, but it was no use. The skull was properly ruined. "I don't think I'll be able to fix this one, mate." John was very used to having to fix and cover up destruction after a date night. He often wondered if Sherlock did the same when he and Molly kept Izzy.

Gabriel flopped down on the armchair and sighed. He knew he was doomed. Scarlett followed him and tugged at his sleeve until he pulled her up into his lap. "I sorry, Bre," she murmured.

"You should be. This is all your fault," Gabriel scolded, letting his sister snuggle into the crook of his arm. "Dad told you not to touch that skull again."

"But it's my favorite."

She looked up at him so wistfully with her round eyes glazed with unshed tears and her trembling lower lip. Gabe couldn't help but feel sorry for his sister and it was likely that she would be in lots of trouble. They both would. When Scarlett got in trouble, Gabe was usually guilty by association, but he was used to it. But one cross word from their father, and Scarlett would go to pieces. A few weeks previous when they were all walking to the Tube station, she had broken away from Sherlock and run toward the street. He'd been so frightened and so angry at her disobedience by her refusal to stop that once he caught up to her, he snatched the toddler off her feet and smacked her twice on the backside before scolding her soundly on the sidewalk. Scarlett had cried for the rest of the day. And not tiny sniffles, but heartbreaking wails that went on and on until she finally cried herself out and fell asleep. No one wanted that kind of scene again. For one thing, Gabriel hadn't been lying this time when he said he had to practice. "Yeah, well just because you like something doesn't mean that it's yours," Gabe grumbled.

"Maybe Sherlock won't notice," John said, trying to fit the tooth back into place before setting it on the mantle once more. He stood back to examine it. The jagged crack down the middle was pretty obvious as if the snaggletoothed grin wasn't enough. Sherlock would most definitely notice. "I think your only hope is to pray that date night goes really well, mate."

Another hour later when Sherlock and Molly returned, they were surprised to see that both children were awake and looking innocently adorable as they watched telly, curled up with Mary and a sleeping Izzy. "Wow! Everyone's still awake!" Molly said, taking her coat off and hanging it. Her clothes looked suspiciously disheveled. "We figured you'd all be asleep by now."

"We wanted to see you and Dad," Gabriel said with a yawn. "John said it would be okay since we could all have a lie in tomorrow."

"Did he?" Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised at John.

John smiled and nodded, a mischievous and knowing grin on his face. "Well, we should be going. Izzy wasn't quite so keen to stay awake." The adults exchanged hugs and thanks and promises to return the favor the next night.

"Yes, tomorrow," Sherlock called down the stairs after them. "Don't forget to have a long, frustrating cab ride home so you can find your child wide awake and waiting for you!" He waved and plastered an exaggerated smile on his face. He sighed and pulled his scarf off, his eyes drawn to the flickering light of the television. It was some random news show and though both of his children were exceptionally bright and seemed to be staring intently, Sherlock knew that they weren't actually watching it. Something was up. Immediately he began staring around the flat looking for anything destroyed, on fire or immersed in questionable liquid. It only took a few seconds to light upon what was wrong. His skull. There was something strange… off… not quite right…

Sherlock started to speak when Scarlett flew off the couch and wrapped tiny arms around his waist. "I sorry, Daddy!" she cried. She then began to sob uncontrollably, spitting out random words that he couldn't make out.

Her shrieks immediately drew Molly into the living room, having only managed to get into the top of her pajamas. "What in the world?"

Sherlock shrugged and looked down at his daughter, his body stiff as if he were afraid of her. "Scarlett?" Bending over finally, he picked her up and hoisted her tiny body on to his hip. "What are you on about?"

"No, Daddy…" she sniffled. "You be mad."

"How do you know that?" Molly asked, coming around to Sherlock's other side and patting the little girl on the back.

"He will," she whined.

"Does this have something to do with my skull?" Sherlock asked, looking over at Gabriel who had been charily silent during this whole exchange.

"I play and it got broked," Scarlett said.

"You were playing with my skull?" Sherlock questioned. His tone was immediately tense. Molly placed a calming hand on his shoulder, sensing the rising anger. "Haven't I told you not to touch it?"

"Sherlock, it's just a skull," Molly started. "And she's just a baby."

He whipped his head around. "But it's mine! I've told her a thousand times not to touch it. The bone dust notwithstanding, what about all of the other things in the flat that are far more dangerous? She has to learn to do what we say, Molly!"

"I did it." Everyone stopped at Gabriel's small voice and turned to stare at him. He stood up and walked over to his parents. "Don't scold Scarlett. It was me. We were playing and I wanted to make her laugh, so I was tossing the skull in the air and catching it. Then Cat barked and distracted me, so I missed and it fell on the hearth and cracked." He hung his head and handed Scarlett her pink blanket. "Sorry, Dad."

Sherlock handed Scarlett off to Molly. "Come on, love. Let's get you into a bath and bed," she said to Scarlett, carrying her off down the hall before the shouting started.

**OoOoOo**

It was well after two in the morning when Scarlett climbed out of her tiny bed. The house was completely quiet and it was a little scary, but she was determined. Clutching her pink blanket, she gathered her courage and toddled across the hall to Gabriel's room. The door was cracked, but she knocked lightly like she'd been taught. "Bre? You in there?" she whispered.

"No, I ran away," Gabriel grumbled, sitting up in his bed and turning the lamp on beside him. "What are you doing awake, Scarlett?"

"I see you, Bre," she replied. Without invitation, she threw her blanket up on the bed and began climbing the foot board until she could wriggle onto the edge. She crawled on her hands and knees up to the top where Gabriel was. She looked around and noticed that something was missing. His small television that hung on the wall opposite was gone along with his tablet that was usually charging on the nightstand. She gasped. "You got buggled, Bre!"

"You mean burgled," he replied, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. "And no I didn't. Dad and Mum took my television and my tablet for a week."

"You got troubled?"

"Yes, I got in trouble. Thanks to _you_," he sighed.

"I sorry, Bre." She climbed into bed beside him and pulled his covers up. "I sleep wiv you, Bre?"

What choice did he really have? She was already there. He nodded and turned the light off again. "Just so you know, I'm not lying for you again, Scar."

"Okay, Bre. Night-night," she said, shoving her thumb in her mouth and snuggling up beside him. Gabriel was almost asleep, listening to the sound of Scarlett slurping on her thumb when she spoke up once more. "Bre?"

"Mmhmm?"

"You my best big brother."

He smirked and let her snuggle closer to him in the dark. "I'm your only big brother, dinkus."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Just a little fluff for this rainy day! Sherlock left alone with two tiny humans? Perhaps not the best idea I've ever had. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe and Scarlett.**

**OoOoOo**

"Daddy?"

The small sound at first wasn't enough to wake him. It was simply another sound in the swirl of noise in the back of his mind. In dreams, the waking world seems so far away and is easy to ignore.

"Daddy?"

There it was again. Sherlock swum through his subconscious, seeking out the source of the noise. He couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. It was the first time he'd slept deeply and for more than an hour in three days. But it was too late. He was cresting the wave back to reality and willing his eyes to open. It was crazy, but he could actually feel someone watching him.

"Daddy. You wake?" Sherlock opened his eyes with a startled gasp. It was dark, but he could see Scarlett standing next to the bed, her face level with his. He immediately assessed her state of mind: anxious, but not upset. There were no tears, so she wasn't hurting in any way. She was shifting from one foot to the other, almost dancing.

"I'm awake, baby," he replied in a hoarse, sleepy voice. He rubbed his eyes and sat up on one elbow. A glance beside him revealed that Molly was already gone. 4:30a.m. Of course. She had agreed to work the odd mid-shift for the week. "What's the matter?"

"I gotta go to the loo, Daddy," she whispered.

Sherlock nodded and sat up, still trying to shake the remnants of sleep from his brain. Since Scarlett had started training, they were trying to encourage her to get up and ask for help if she needed to go in the middle of the night. The only snag was that Molly was usually here to help her. "Well go on then," he croaked, rising from the bed and nudging her toward the bathroom.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. "You come too, Daddy."

He sighed. "Yes, love. I'm right behind you." Recently, Scarlett had decided that she did not like going into rooms by herself if it was the slightest bit dark. He couldn't help laughing as she walked into the loo and immediately began to sing to herself. The whole time she was sitting on the toilet, she sang the little nonsensical song. She must have sat there for five minutes with very little evidence that she actually had to go. He sighed with exasperation. Had he really been awakened from a dead sleep for this? Sherlock could hear Molly's voice in his head, scolding him for being impatient. _"We have to encourage her."_

"Okay, Daddy. I done," she announced finally. He helped her get cleaned up and redressed. She tried to bypass the sink with a, "No thank you, Daddy."

"Oh yes," Sherlock chuckled, steering her back to the little step stool. She sang the Happy Birthday song as she washed her hands, like Molly had taught her. Sherlock thought it was the silliest thing ever, but even he had to admit that it helped her time how long she should wash. Perhaps someone should have taught Gabriel, who more often than not, just ran his hands under a splash of water. "All right, Scar-baby. Back to bed with you," he said, helping her dry her hands on the flannel by the sink. She smiled and kissed him sloppily on the cheek before scampering back into his bedroom. He walked in behind to find the little girl struggling to climb up the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Scar sleep wiv Daddy," she replied with a tiny grunt as she slid back to the floor.

"No, I think Scarlett needs to sleep in her own bed," he said, scooping her up. A few weeks previous, it had been decided that Scarlett could graduate from her cot to a toddler bed. Of course, now that they had gone to all the trouble to convert the damn thing, she never wanted to sleep in it. She always started out there, but most mornings she would wander into their room or Gabriel's. Molly kept telling them it was just a phase. That she was just afraid to be on her own and she'd grow out of it, but Sherlock wasn't convinced that it wasn't an evil ploy to avoid additional siblings.

"No, Daddy. You lonely with no Mummy. I sleep wiv you."

"I think I can cope," Sherlock replied with grin, kissing her cheek. "Besides, I may not be going back to sleep."

"Yes, Daddy. You go back to sleep wiv Scar-baby." This time she wriggled from his grasp, pushing back from his chest until he let her go so she could scramble onto the bed.

"Scarlett," he said, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably. "You must go to your own bed. You have to learn to be on your own."

She was clearly not listening and had already snuggled under the duvet, her big eyes peering out. "Please?"

He sighed, knowing he was defeated once more. Finally he nodded and climbed into bed beside her. She immediately curled up against his side, using both her chubby hands to push his arm out of the way so that she could nestle against his chest. She liked to lay her ear against him where she could hear the light thump of his heartbeat. As soon as she was sleeping, he would get up and carry her back to her own bed. It seemed like such a good plan until Sherlock drowsed back to unconsciousness, listening to the slow rhythm of his daughter's breathing.

**OoOoOo**

"Hey Dad, we had to read about coal mines last night for homework and write a paragraph about what we read. Would you read it?" Gabriel asked, opening his folder. Then he groaned. "Scarlett!"

"What?" she asked, throwing her arms up.

"You drew on my homework paper! Dad! She drew on my homework again!"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and took the paper from Gabriel. What appeared to be a giant eye with hair was dancing across the bottom of Gabriel's history homework. "Scarlett!" he started. "Why did you draw on Gabriel's paper?"

"I not draw," she said, going back to playing with the spoon in her cereals.

"Yes you did!" Gabriel whined. "Dad, she does it all the time. I'm going to get in trouble."

"I not draw on Bre part," Scarlett said.

Sherlock sighed. He hated when Molly wasn't around in the mornings and he had to be responsible for getting both children dressed, fed and Gabriel, at least, off to school. This particular morning, his phone kept buzzing with messages from Lestrade asking when he might be able to get to the Yard and the noise was driving him insane. He blamed the fact that he had been awakened so early and then went back to sleep. Not that he would trade the snuggle time with Scarlett, but now his head was groggy and his temper was short.

"It doesn't matter if you drew on my part or not," Gabriel scolded. "The teacher will think I did it!"

"Both of you stop arguing and eat your breakfast!" Sherlock snapped. Then he knelt beside Scarlett's chair, getting down on her level. "Scarlett, look at my face."

She turned and smiled. "Hey Daddy!"

"Hi. You don't touch things that aren't yours. Do you understand?"

"Okay, Daddy," she chirped, dropping a piece of cereal on the table and picking it up with her fingers to shove into her mouth. "I not touch."

"Dad," Gabriel sighed. "She says that every time."

Sherlock ignored him, holding Scarlett's gaze with a fierce one of his own. "That's right. You don't touch other people's things because the next time you draw on Gabriel's homework, you _will_ get a spanking. Got it?" She nodded and went back to her cereals. "And try using your spoon with that, please," he said, standing up.

"Where's Mum?" Gabriel asked, watching as Sherlock read over the homework.

"At Bart's. Remember, she's working that weird shift this week," he replied absently.

Gabriel gasped. "Oh! I forgot. While you were in the bath, Mum called to let you know she would be late."

His head snapped up. "How late?"

"She said three o'clock."

Sherlock handed the paper back to Gabriel and ruffled his hair as he sought out his mobile. As he dialed the number for the lab, he felt the irritation rising on his skin and he tried to shake it off. He didn't want the first words he said to Molly in the morning to be with a biting tone, but this had the potential to mess up his entire day. Lestrade needed him badly, John was actually off for a change and his inbox was bursting. He'd been looking forward to getting out. Now he'd have to rearrange things to accommodate Scarlett. "This is Molly," came the weary voice of his wife as she answered the phone.

"Hi. It's me," Sherlock said.

"Hi you," Molly replied. "What's up?"

"When are you coming home?"

"Didn't get my message?"

"Sort of, though that's what happens when you leave messages with nine year olds."

"Well I'd been texting you all morning." Molly sighed. She was the one that sounded irritated. "I should be able to come at three. They found another body early this morning. Are you at home?"

"Yes."

"Wow, I thought you'd be with Lestrade by now."

"Well, I would be, but there are these two tiny humans that, for some reason, are unable to do things for themselves."

"Leave them with Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure she won't mind for a couple of hours until I get there. And Gabe is going to school, right?"

"I can't leave them with Mrs. Hudson, she's at her sister's for the week. And yes, Gabe is going to school, but I have to get him there first!"

"Well don't yell at me! I had to work. And I'd think you'd prefer for me to gather the samples off the body for you!"

"I'm not yelling at you, Molly," he sighed. "I just wish I'd known."

"Well I didn't know myself." He could hear some kind of commotion in the background and then the distinctive whine of Greg Lestrade in the background.

"Is that Sherlock?" Greg shouted. "Tell him to get off the damn phone and get over here now! I need him."

"Did you hear that?" Molly asked.

"Tell him to send Anderson over here to babysit and I'll be right there," Sherlock grumbled.

"Dad! I'm going to be late to school!" Gabriel called from the other room.

"Shit, I have to go. Tell Lestrade I'll be there when I get there."

Molly giggled. "I will. Bring me a coffee will you? The pot here's broken."

"Anything else, Highness?"

He could almost hear Molly smirking on the other end of the line. "You could wear that sexy button-up I like. Nothing white. There's a lot of blood on this one."

"Oooh… my favorite. Good bye…"

"Sherlock!"

"Hmm?"

"Love you."

He smiled, a slight smugness to his grin. "I know it."

**OoOoOo**

"Where we go, Daddy?" Scarlett asked as Sherlock knelt in front of her, wiping the remnants of breakfast off of her cheeks.

"We have to go see Mummy at work, Peaseblossom," he replied. He knew Molly wouldn't be too happy about him bringing Scarlett, but what choice did he have? It wasn't as if it were a crime scene or anything. And she had been to the lab lots of times. She would simply stay in the lab instead of venturing out into the morgue itself. Gabriel had been completely jealous, but there was nothing he could do for it. School awaited.

"Where Bre?"

"Remember? We walked him to school."

"Yes, I 'member," she replied, then crinkled her nose in confusion again. "Why he not want to see Mummy?"

"Because he had school today. One day you'll have to go too," Sherlock said, though admittedly he wasn't paying much attention to their conversation. His brain was already racing with ideas on the case waiting for him at Bart's. Fifth body in as many days, all of them blondes, all of them found in roughly the same area, all of them wearing cocktail dresses—none of them connected in any other way. All of them completely exsanguinated. It had promises to be at least an eight.

"Daddy, I not like this jumper," she said, pulling at the neck with annoyance. "It itches."

"Sorry, baby. That's the one we have," he replied, standing up and steering her toward the bathroom sink.

"I get my princess shirt?"

"No, it's much too chilly out for your princess shirt. Besides, it isn't clean."

Scarlett shrugged, but seemed to accept this and allowed herself to be ushered into the bathroom to have her teeth brushed. Sherlock put the paste on her tiny toothbrush and she grabbed for it. "I do it myself, Daddy!" she exclaimed.

"Okay, you do it first and then I'll help with the rest," he conceded, honestly not wanting to argue with her. She smiled widely in the mirror and began brushing each tooth individually. Sherlock stood over her, watching with an amused expression until he spied the clock overhead. "All right, Scar-baby. Let me do the rest." Before she could protest, he took the toothbrush and scrubbed at her teeth, instructing her to open wider and tickling her belly to make her laugh so that he could reach her new molars.

Once they were done, they were finally ready to leave. Sherlock stopped to shoot a text to John. _Meet me at Bart's lab. ~SH_ Scarlett waited patiently on her father, staring up at him with large eyes as he fiddled with his mobile. He glanced down at her and noticed she was shifting back and forth on her feet. "Scarlett, do you have to go to the loo?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I good, Daddy."

"You sure? Before you put your coat on?"

"Nope. I good, Daddy."

"It's a long cab ride," he said.

She scrunched up her face in annoyance and poked her lip out. Suddenly she looked so much like Molly that Sherlock gasped. "I good," she said again and held out her arms to have her coat put on.

Several minutes later, they were rushing down the street in the back of a cab, waiting for the light to turn. Sherlock was running through Lestrade's countless texts of panic throughout the morning:

_I need you to come now. ~GL_

_Another body. ~GL_

_It's at least an 8. ~GL_

_Are you getting my texts? ~GL_

_I just tried calling you. ~GL_

_Sherlock, why are you ignoring Greg's texts? ~MH_

_I'm going to be late coming home, btw. ~MH_

_You don't even bother to ask me anymore do you? ~JW_

_Sherlock, would you please answer the Detective Inspector? ~M_

It's a wonder that any of them could do anything without his instruction.

"Daddy?" Scarlett's voice was very small and he could barely hear over the road noise. She tugged on his sleeve until he leaned down to let her whisper in his ear.

"Yes, Peaseblossom?"

"I have to go," she whispered, then clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from giggling.

**OoOoOo **

Everyone looked up when they heard the clatter of the lab doors crashing open. John laughed. "That certainly sounds like Sherlock, anyway." Seconds later, Sherlock was rushing into the lab holding Scarlett around the waist out in front of him. Her clothes were disheveled and her coat hung off of one arm.

"What on earth happened?" Molly asked, pulling her child away from its father and clutching her tightly. Molly kissed her cheeks all over until Scarlett was giggling. "You look like you've been through the wars, darling." She kept a smile plastered on her face as she stared at Sherlock over the child's shoulder, mouthing _"Why is she wet?"_

"We uhm… had a little accident on the way over." He stared helplessly at Lestrade. "Please… take me to the dead bodies."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Yay! More Scarlett n' Gabe! Today- adventures in bathing. So fluffy, you'll never hear it coming. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe and Scarlett.**

"All right, Scarlett. I think this is our cue to leave." Molly winced and covered Scarlett's eyes when the person on the screen blew the alien to smithereens with a big, gloopy explosion. Sherlock and Gabriel were glued to the screen. They sat on the floor in front of the television, looking like exact copies of one another. Gabriel sat in Sherlock's lap, both of them in pajamas, with an enormous bowl of popcorn. Neither really noticed when Molly rose and had to drag Scarlett away from the lounge. "Come on, little one. It's bath and bed for us."

"Mummy, I watch telly," Scarlett whined, pointing down the hall.

"No, sweetie. That's a big person's film."

"Bre watch it!" Scarlett poked her lip out and crossed her tiny arms over her chest. "He not a big person."

Molly smiled and started to respond, then realizing that she sort of agreed with the child, swallowed her words. "It's time for bed," she said, feigning a yawn. "I'm so tired."

"Okay, Mummy. You go night-night and I go watch telly with Daddy!" Scarlett gave a big smile and threw her arms up as if she'd just come up with a genius solution to their problem.

"Nice try," she giggled, scooping Scarlett into her arms and going to the wardrobe to pull out fresh pajamas for her. As they walked into the bathroom and Molly began running warm water into the tub, she noticed that Scarlett had little bits of her dinner tangled in her hair. She sighed and closed her eyes, knowing that this bath was going to be a struggle. Scarlett hated having her hair washed. Not that Molly could blame her. The child's hair, while beautiful, was extremely difficult to manage. It fell in perfect corkscrew curls to the middle of her back. Given her parents, it wasn't surprising that it was also so thick that putting it up was nearly impossible. No clips or barrettes were capable of holding up the heavy masses of hair for more than a few minutes. And hair ties were out of the question. The one time Molly had tried one, Sherlock had spent the better part of an evening cutting and disentangling the elastic band from Scarlett's hair while she screamed bloody murder. "Hair tie" was a dirty word in the Holmes household. "Oh Scarlett… how did you get your dinner everywhere?"

"I not know, Mummy," Scarlett replied as Molly sat her down on the floor and began pulling her shirt over her head. "I use a spoon like you say." Of course, Scarlett using a spoon mostly consisted of her stirring her food around, scooping it up in the utensil and then using her fingers to eat whatever was in the spoon. Despite Scarlett's dancing around, Molly managed to get her undressed and into the tub. The little girl immediately started splashing wildly. Molly laughed, remembering when Scarlett had first discovered the joys of getting her parents soaking wet. She had discovered splashing at nearly a year old and Sherlock had been the first sacrificial experiment. That night, by the time they were done he looked like he'd been swimming in all of his clothes. His crisp, white shirt plastered to his skin and almost see-through. After that, Scarlett's parents had grown wiser, opting to disrobe from the waist up before letting the child into her bath.

Scarlett played with her toys: a little boat, a couple of broken soap crayons and one of Gabriel's discarded action figures. Though, truth be told, she preferred playing with the bar of soap and flannel. She sang to herself as Molly went around the tiny bathroom looking for a towel and the cup she used to help rinse Scarlett's hair. "Mummy, why I got to go bed? Bre stay up."

"Because Gabriel is nine years old. When you're nine, you'll get to stay up later too." Molly retrieved the cup from the top shelf of the cupboard, trying to hide it from her daughter. As soon as she saw the pretty pink cup, Scarlett would know she was getting her hair washed and immediately start crying.

"But I not seepy, Mummy."

"You will be," Molly replied, unbuttoning her shirt and tossing it aside. She turned and knelt down by the tub, taking the flannel from Scarlett. "But baby girls need lots of sleep."

"I not a baby!" Scarlett seemed insulted by the implication. "I a big girl."

Molly giggled and began dribbling water over Scarlett's shoulders and tummy. "Yes you are, but you're still my baby."

"I not a baby," she said with a pout.

"Not even Daddy's baby?"

Scarlett seemed to think this over. It would be unthinkable not to be her father's baby. There were few things she liked more than being cradled and kissed by Sherlock. "Okay, maybe Daddy's baby." Molly giggled and lathered the soap on the flannel until large soapy suds were dripping from her hands. "I do it myself, Mummy!" She grabbed at the flannel and rubbed it over her skin as she had seen Molly do it so many times before. Though, there wasn't much chance that any dirt would actually be removed. "See! I do it!"

"You're doing beautifully, darling. Just let Mummy get your face." Molly managed to get the flannel from her and scrubbed her tiny face as she squirmed. "Oh, Scarlett… how did you manage to get dirt on the end of your nose?" Scarlett gave an evil chuckle in response. "At least your feet aren't like Gabriel's."

"Bre feet?"

"Yes, Gabriel's feet are always disgusting and black on the bottoms." Molly wrinkled her nose, drawing another giggle from Scarlett. It was true enough, though. During the warmer months, it was difficult to keep Gabriel's shoes on his feet. He tromped around the house without shoes all the time. They even got a call from the school one day that Gabriel had actually lost one while playing outside. It was later discovered that a neighborhood dog had taken off with it. "Okay, Sugarplum, let's get your hair washed." She tried to sound cheerful about the whole thing, but as predicted, Scarlett went ballistic as soon as she saw that her mother was holding the little pink cup.

"Nooo…" Scarlett whined as Molly opened the spigot behind her, getting the water warm. She tried to push Molly's arm away from the faucet.

"Oh, don't be so silly, Scar-baby. You have to have your hair washed." She used one hand to brace the little girl's back and the other to nudge her head back. Scarlett did not like it and immediately began to squirm and splash. "Scarlett! Stop it!" Molly scolded. "You're going to fall."

"I not like it, Mummy!" She continued to thrash as Molly poured water from the cup gently over her daughter's head, taking care not to let it go in her eyes. "Daddy!" she shouted. "I want my Daddy!"

"He'd hardly save you, silly. There's nothing for it. We have to wash your hair." Suddenly she had an idea. Distraction was a powerful tool in the mummy arsenal. "Let's sing a song, Scarlett." She knew her daughter's weakness and as soon as they began to sing "London Bridge is Falling Down," Scarlett quieted and at least let her mother get the shampoo in her hair. It wasn't until Molly's fingers became tangled in the long, auburn ringlets that Scarlett began to howl again. Molly sighed and began to scrub the knotty hair faster. They were so close to the end now. She began a chorus of "Frere Jacques," ignoring Scarlett's wailing.

Mercifully, Molly was able to get the child's hair clean without any further mishaps. She'd been praying that soap wouldn't drip down into the child's eyes. That had happened one other time and one would have thought that the child had been burned with acid. Molly spied the clock overhead, noting how late it was, and decided that it would be best just to comb some conditioner into Scarlett's hair and twist it into a loose braid rather than trying to dry it. Scarlett still sniffled, but allowed her mother to comb gently through her locks and get her dried off. Of course, once the towel was unwrapped, she couldn't help herself and took off running naked through the house.

"Scarlett!" Molly called, unable to contain her giggles.

The little girl made a beeline to Sherlock and Gabriel. "Where are your clothes, Peaseblossom?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle. Gabriel was unimpressed and went back to dozing with his head on his father's arm.

"Gone."

"Gone? Forever?"

"Yep. I no wear clothes anymore." Scarlett stood up tall, proud that she had declared herself a nudist.

"You'll get awfully cold," Sherlock replied, putting an arm around her. She immediately began pushing Gabriel out of his lap and climbing into it.

"Go away, Scarlett!" Gabriel whined, pushing back. "You're all wet and I'm sitting with Dad."

"I sit wiv my Daddy," Scarlett said.

"Dad!"

Sherlock looked helpless until Molly came over and scooped Scarlett up in a towel. "All right, you. Leave your brother alone. It's bedtime for you."

Molly was lying in bed, dozing lightly, her book open on her lap, when Sherlock came to bed finally. She opened her eyes and watched as he undressed. Even after all this time, watching the muscles in his back and shoulders work as he tugged at his shirt and bent down to push his trousers over the blunt plane of his hip, made her mouth water. "I thought you'd never get here," Molly said, with a yawn and long stretch.

"Waiting up for me, were you?"

"Always." She'd heard Gabriel go up the stairs to bed at least a couple of hours ago, but the tired look of his eyes told Molly that Sherlock had been peering through the microscope and pouring over some case file for Lestrade. The case he'd been putting off all evening to watch a film with Gabriel. Molly smiled, her heart fluttering with love for him and other more unmentionable places fluttering with lust at this show of sentimentality.

He crawled into bed beside her, rolling over to look down on her face as she curled into his side. "That's really sweet, you know."

"What's that?" he asked, his fingertip brushing lightly over the arch of her eyebrow.

"How you sat there with Gabriel all night like that. It meant a lot to him."

He looked slightly puzzled by this admission. "It's not that unusual is it?"

"Well no, but since Scarlett got here, he gets starved for your undivided attention. Anyway, I thought it was very sweet of you."

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. "What do I win?" he asked with a gravelly voice as he pulled back.

"Well… I do have a fresh, diseased kidney in the lab fridge just waiting for you…"

"Oh, my favorite." He kissed her again, this time with obvious intent. His sinuous fingertips slid all over her body, finding the tiny, hidden ticklish places that he'd come to know so well. He'd learned her body in the same way he'd learned everything else: memorizing every feature in her complicated geography. He knew just the right amount of pressure to exert with each touch, just the right things to whisper in her ear. Sherlock was an intoxicating and feverish dream that just went on and on. Molly was quite certain that her desire for him would stretch into forever with perfect ease.

"Oh… before you get too lost in that," Molly sighed. "We have to talk about Scarlett's hair."

"What?" he asked, his voice faraway as he continued to nibble at the plump vein at the base of her throat.

"Scarlett… her hair…" Her words trailed into a nonsensical moan as his thumb found the sensitive line just under her arm that reached its terminus at the curve of her breast. "It's… it needs to be cut. All of it."

Sherlock stopped immediately, pulling back and looking at Molly with confusion. "All of it? What do you mean?"

"I mean her hair is so long and wild… it's an absolute terror to wash it or brush it anymore. She screams and cries. I just don't think I can do it anymore. I think if we just took her and had it cut to her chin…it would be precious."

"Molly, her hair has _never_ been cut."

"I know. That's my point. It's gotten out of control."

"Her hair is stunning. I don't think we should cut it."

"Sherlock," Molly sighed, sitting up slightly. "She's not a baby anymore. And it's just too much."

"She is so a baby. She's my baby! And I like her hair." He huffed and sat up. "We're not cutting it!"

"Why not?"

"Because she's a beautiful little girl with lovely red ringlets. There's no reason to cut it."

"She'll still be beautiful, Sherlock. I'm not suggesting a buzz cut."

"Gabe's hair is curly. You've never mentioned chopping his off," he countered.

"No, because we don't have to worry about braiding Gabe's. Or brushing it for him. Or washing and blowdrying it. He takes care of that himself. It takes me almost an hour every day to fix Scarlett's hair and she screams the whole time!"

Sherlock rolled over, away from Molly. When he showed his back, it was a signal that all conversation should cease. "I'm not cutting my baby's hair."

"Fine. Then you get to deal with your baby's hair!"


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: So I've been down in the darkness with "Jaguar and Bijoux," the last few days, but I figured I'd lighten my own mood with the next installment of this. It's properly fluffy, I think. Thanks to all who have reviewed and commented. It is much appreciated! I'll do my best to update a lot this week, but I'm working on finishing a novel and I have a book coming out this week- so I may be drowning in promo. Anyway, we'll all do our best. Happy Monday!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett, Izzy and Maxine the hairstylist.**

Molly heard the racket from the street out front. As soon as she opened the door at 221, she was met by a very worried looking John and Gabriel. Izzy was, as usual, giggling mischievously from behind John. "Hi Auntie!" she said cheerfully.

Molly smiled and then winced as she heard a crash and a high-pitched, unintelligible shout. "What's going on up there?" she asked, looking to John.

"Did you tell Sherlock that he had to do something with Scarlett's hair?" John said.

"Yeah, a couple of days ago when he informed me that I wasn't allowed to have it cut," Molly replied.

"Oh no…" Gabriel sighed, hiding his face in his hands. He started to say more when Mrs. Hudson rushed down the stairs to the crowd that had formed in the foyer. She looked frazzled and her eyes were wide. Kind of like a deer staring down the barrel of a flame thrower.

"Oh, Molly dear…" Mrs. Hudson cried. "I'm so glad you're here. It's like a warzone up there."

"What happened?" She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from letting the victorious grin emerge. She hated that Scarlett was having to suffer so that she could prove a point to Sherlock. What was that about not making an omelet without breaking some eggs? Molly knew that he'd been avoiding washing her hair since their chat and that he'd been conning Mary or John into braiding it the last two mornings so that he could avoid the issue altogether. That only worked for so long and by this morning, Molly could tell that the ritual hair washing was going to have to take place.

John shrugged. "I have no idea. Mary dropped Izzy and me off while she ran some errands and when we got up there, Scarlett had locked herself in the loo."

Molly gasped. "How did she figure that out?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I think it was an accident, actually. Dad told her to come out, but she couldn't figure out how to unlock the door. So she screamed for a good forty-five minutes until he managed to pick the lock. Then she ran because he said it was time for a bath."

"Scarlett's in biiiiig trouble, Auntie," Isabel said, tugging on John's trouser leg until he picked her up.

"You stay out of it," John said.

Molly sighed and took Gabriel by the hand. "Come on. Let's go survey the damage."

Gabriel stared at Molly's hand. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because I do," Molly said.

They climbed the stairs slowly, suddenly alarmed at the silence that had descended. When they emerged into the flat, Molly could already see the debris left from the battle. A towel and a button up that was obviously Sherlock's lay in the floor at their feet like some weird welcome mat. They crept inside, Molly pushing Gabriel behind her protectively. What she was protecting him from, she wasn't sure. But it was too quiet. "Sherlock?" she called out, peeking around the corner and into the kitchen.

"I hear dripping," Gabriel said, tugging on Molly's arm. "Maybe they're in the bathroom." She followed him down the hall. The sound of the dripping got louder and Molly could also detect soft sniffles. When they reached the bathroom, she paused. "Go on," Gabriel whispered. "Open the door." He nudged her arm gently and she nodded.

"I'm going." With a tentative fingertip, she pushed open the bathroom door, expecting to see one or both of them lying dead on the tile floor. What she saw instead was more hilarious than she might have hoped for and immediately she dissolved into peals of laughter. Scarlett was in the tub looking like a drowned mouse with her hair completely lathered with shampoo. She was sniffling. Those big, ugly sniffles that made it impossible to speak. Sherlock was also in the tub, fully clothed from the waist down, yet fully submerged in the water. His long legs were wrapped around his child in some sort of death grip while he scrubbed at her hair.

"Get out!" he shouted over Scarlett's cries for her mummy.

Molly started into the bath, but Gabriel got between her and the doorframe and started pushing her backward. "He's got it, Mum… let's just wait out here."

"But…" He closed the door behind them and led Molly into the lounge where John, Izzy and Mrs. Hudson were waiting. All three sitting like pigeons on a power line across the couch.

"Well?" John asked.

"I think he's got it under control," Gabriel replied.

**OoOoOo**

Sherlock and Molly sat in the tiny lobby outside the hair salon early the next morning. Scarlett sat in her mother's lap, still reluctant to let her father even touch her after their exploits the day before. When he cooed and tickled her ears, she glared at him, obviously remembering that he had betrayed her. He, who was supposed to be her ally in the battle of bathtime. He had insisted on washing her hair and she would not soon forget his treachery. Even now when he tried to grasp her fingers, she turned away and buried her face in Molly's neck.

"She's never going to forgive me, Molly," Sherlock whined.

"Well you were pretty frightening."

"I was desperate!"

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me I was right."

He could only grumble in reply. Molly gave a coy, yet boastful grin.

"Scarlett?" A small woman wearing a black apron and a purple Mohawk called from behind the counter. Molly looked up, recognizing the woman immediately as the one who always cut Gabriel's hair.

"Hello, Maxine!" Molly got to her feet and crossed to the hair stylist. "It's nice to see you again."

"Hi Molly! How is Gabriel?"

"He's just wonderful. Though he will be needing a haircut soon, so you'll be seeing him." Ever since Gabriel's first haircut, he'd been totally in love with Maxine. She always managed to hold his attention so he didn't squirm and she was always willing to do whatever he wanted with his hair. He was so impressed that even Molly had started coming in.

"Excellent! And when am I going to get you in here for that sassy pixie cut we were talking about?"

Molly giggled. "We'll see. But for now, I'd like you to meet my darling Scarlett."

Max squealed and immediately swept the toddler into her arms. "Oh my goodness! I finally get to meet you!"

Scarlett giggled. "Hi," she said, putting one chubby hand up in a half-wave.

"Hello, darling. I can't believe you're so big. You know the last time I saw you, you were still in your mum's tummy!" She looked back at Molly and gasped. "You aren't going to cut this little one's hair are you?"

"Yes," Molly and Sherlock replied in unison. "Oh… Max, this is Sherlock," Molly began.

"Oh of course! I know you. My boyfriend is a huge fan of your website. I'm afraid he's one step up from a stalker!" She held a hand out to Sherlock and he took it with as much grace as he could muster.

"My son Gabriel speaks highly of you," he said.

"Gabriel's an absolute dream," Max said. "And I'm sure that this little sugarfoot is just the same." She squeezed Scarlett again. "I could just eat you up."

"No eat," Scarlett replied with a worried look to Molly.

Max laughed. "So you're going to cut these gorgeous red ringlets, then?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid that it's so thick and unruly that she screams whenever we try to wash or brush it."

"Hmm," Max hummed. "Like Gabriel, she must have your hair," she said to Sherlock.

"Sadly, there was no escaping it."

"And Max…" Molly leaned in conspiratorially. "He's very upset about his little girl's first haircut." Sherlock groaned.

"Well of course he is!" she exclaimed. "But I promise, she'll be so adorable when it's all done."

"I have the utmost faith," Molly giggled.

Maxine carried Scarlett over to her chair and set her down, with the other two following close behind. "Oooh… big," Scarlett sighed, patting the arms of the leather chair.

"Oh I know," Max said. "And you know what else? It can go up and down." She demonstrated, pumping the chair up and down as Scarlett giggled. "Now, first things first. Let's put on your beautiful princess robe!" Scarlett sighed in amazement as Max pulled out a bright pink smock with a sparkling crown bedazzled on the front. With a dramatic swirl of the smock, she fastened it around Scarlett's throat. She pulled out a bottle of water and let Scarlett spray it a few times before using it to wet the little girl's hair. Then she made the cardinal mistake. She pulled out the brush and began pulling Scarlett's hair back in a ponytail.

"No no no, Mummy!" Scarlett cried, immediately trying to squirm from the chair.

"Scarlett," Molly said, kneeling beside the chair and attempting to hold the child in place. "It's all right, sweetie. She's not going to hurt you." Despite Molly's soft words of comfort, Scarlett kept right on screaming until people walking in front of the shop began to stop and stare. "Scarlett… you must stop this…" Molly said as Max threw up her hands, looking helpless.

"I can't make you pretty if you aren't still and quiet," Max tried. She shrugged and looked at Molly and Sherlock. "Do you think she's afraid I'm going to cut her or something?"

"No, she's just tenderheaded," Sherlock sighed, unconsciously running his fingers through his own hair. He remembered the anxiety completely. "Scarlett!" he snapped. The harsh tone of his voice immediately made her stop. "Sit still and no more fussing. No one's strangling you. Yet." Though she sniffled and whimpered, she finally sat still and allowed Max to tie her hair into a low ponytail.

Max smiled and took a deep breath. The child's initial reaction had obviously shaken her a bit and now she was reluctant to upset her again. "Okay, now that's done. So how short do you want it? Keep in mind that when I cut it, the curls will scrunch up a bit."

Molly didn't let Sherlock utter even a syllable. "To her chin. Just a cute bob maybe. What do you think?"

Max nodded. "Definitely. And I can thin it a little if you like."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sherlock interrupted. "See, you two don't think I know what any of this means. No, I was the recipient of terrible haircuts for my entire childhood. She'll look like she has a curly helmet on!"

Max and Molly giggled. "No she won't. I promise," Max said. "Isn't Gabe's hair always perfect?"

"And Sherlock," Molly started. "It will grow back." He still looked unhappy, but said no more and busied himself on his phone.

Max went into her drawer and pulled out a pair of tiny, pointed scissors. When Scarlett saw them, she began squirming again. "No cut! No cut, Mummy!" This time she actually slid from the chair and bolted across the room to cower behind one of the standing hairdryers. Sherlock didn't even look up as he strolled over to her. She didn't run, but continued sniffling even as she took his hand.

"Silly girl, it doesn't hurt," he said, lifting her onto his hip.

"Uh huh," she replied, rubbing her eyes on Sherlock's shoulder.

"No it doesn't," he said.

"Sherlock, why don't you let Max cut your hair," Molly said. "Just to see that it doesn't hurt."

"Why don't you?" he said, his voice almost a shriek.

She ignored his question. "You need a trim anyway. Come on, then. Show your little girl it doesn't hurt."

Scarlett seemed to find this notion endlessly hilarious. "Cut Daddy's hair!"

Sherlock shot Molly a murderous glare, but she only smiled innocently, lighting in the chair beside Max's. "I agree. Cut Daddy's hair."

**OoOoOo**

It was going to be a very long night for Greg Lestrade. The wife and child of a prominent elected official were missing, but believed to be alive. For the time being anyway. A ransom note found at the home alluded that they had twenty- four hours. It was exactly the sort of tricky situation that he needed Sherlock for. Despite Sally Donovan's insistence that they'd be fine without him, Lestrade had been trying to reach his most favorite consultant for the last hour. "I swear to God, Sherlock, if you don't call me back in the next five minutes, I'm sending someone to arrest you!" he shouted into his phone.

Then, a ray of hope. He could see John Watson negotiating around the crime scene tape. "John! Thank God!" he called. He sprinted over to where the doctor stood, expecting to see Sherlock emerge from the shadows. Greg squinted. There was someone with John, but he couldn't make the person out. Perhaps just another officer. Of course, when he got closer, he could see. "Jesus, Sherlock. Your hair." His hair indeed. It was cut close on the sides and in back. Controlled curls fell over his brow, highlighting the shape of his eyes. Suddenly Greg realized that he had never really known that Sherlock had ears.

"Shut up," he growled. "It wasn't my idea."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Welcome back, party people! Sorry this wasn't up yesterday. We had a massive internet problem that couldn't be helped. I hope that the longish chapter makes up for it. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett and Katie.**

It was Friday afternoon. Gabriel and Katie sat cross-legged on the floor, side by side watching cartoons. They leaned against one another tiredly. It had been a very long day at school and though both were glad for the weekend, they had not gotten their Friday night second wind just yet. They were so tired, that Gabriel hadn't even protested much when his baby sister climbed into his lap and insisted on watching some ridiculous show with talking pink unicorns. And Katie just laughed as Scarlett grabbed her hand. The toddler had decided that Katie must be another sibling, as she was there all the time anyway, and had therefore deemed her thumb worthy to be sucked. Scarlett had been informed by her parents that she was not supposed to suck her thumb. Scarlett's reasoning had worked out that as long as she weren't sucking her _own_ thumb, she could do what she liked. So now she had this habit of crawling into other people's laps and sucking _their_ fingers. This completely unnerved Molly who was convinced that she was going to pick up some kind of flesh-eating virus, even though both Sherlock and John had explained that stomach acid would take care of most of it. She still insisted on having enormous tankards of anti-bac everywhere. Even after Sherlock had sarcastically suggested that they just hose the child down with biocide.

"You sleep here," Scarlett said to Katie. It wasn't really a question.

Katie laughed. "Yes. I'm staying the weekend, Scarlett." That had been happening more frequently of late. Gabriel knew his friend didn't want to stay at her house right now. He had talked to his parents about it. About how the last time he was at Katie's house, her mom and dad had been having some terrible fight where they screamed and threw things at one another. It got so bad that Katie and Gabriel had taken her two younger siblings and stayed up in her room until John and Mary came to pick Gabriel up. Knowing that things were bad, Molly had insisted that they let Katie stay over anytime she wanted. Sherlock had been irritated at first, but he'd gotten used to it and no longer cringed when Katie hugged him or kissed his cheek.

"Where's your mum going anyway?" Gabriel asked.

Katie shrugged. "She took Thomas and Martha to Gram's house. She asked if I wanted to go too, but I hate going to Gram's. It's so boring."

"Oh," Gabriel said. "I'm glad you're staying here."

"I wish I could stay here all the time."

"Why?"

"My mom and dad fight too much. It's not cheerful anymore like it is here. I think they're going to get a divorce." Katie looked sad and snuggled Scarlett closer.

"What's a divorce?" Gabriel asked.

"When your mom and dad don't like each other anymore and they stop living together."

"Oh." Gabe was suddenly very uncomfortable with the conversation and turned his attention back to the television. They sat in silence until the end of the show when they heard the door downstairs open.

"All right, you three." Mary emerged from the bedroom where she'd been lying down with Izzy. "Grab your jackets so we can go eat," she said with a yawn. Isabel was on her feet but still half asleep even as she linked arms with Scarlett to stumble down the stairs toward their parents. Gabriel pulled his and Katie's jackets down from the rack behind the door and helped her into it.

"Gabe, what if my mom and dad _do_ get divorced?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Katie. They won't."

"They might," she sighed. "What if my mom moves out and takes Thomas and Martha with her? Maybe she'll move back to America and I'll have to leave. Or worse, maybe she'll move back to America with Thomas and Martha and Gram, but I won't be invited. She's not really my mom, you know."

Gabriel hugged Katie tight. He could tell she was crying, but he didn't want to say anything about it. She might be embarrassed and he didn't really know what to say. He wasn't really even sure what 'divorce' meant and he didn't want to promise that nothing bad was going to happen if he wasn't sure. His dad had told him that it wasn't right to give people false hope by sugar coating the truth. "It'll be okay, Katie. We'll be friends no matter what."

"You promise?"

"Of course." He smiled and took her hand, leading her downstairs. As soon as everyone was assembled, her tears dried up and she was able to laugh, but Gabe could tell. Katie was worried.

**OoOoOo**

Sherlock and Molly were curled up in bed watching telly when Gabriel's troubles finally got the best of him. It always happened. His little brain was like a slow pressure cooker. He simmered on his thoughts for a long time before finally spitting them out. He knocked lightly on their cracked door and peered around the frame. "Are you guys still awake?"

"No, we went to sleep three hours ago when we put our children to bed," Sherlock answered, closing his laptop. Molly pinched him. "Ow! I mean, come on in."

Molly laughed as Gabriel climbed up the side of the bed, flailing and crawling over his father to situate himself between them. "Well do make yourself comfortable," she teased as he snuggled under the blankets. "What's up, Gabriel? You look troubled."

He shrugged, sitting there for a long time as if trying to find the right words. "What happens if people get divorced?"

Sherlock struggled to pass his laptop over to the nightstand one handed. "First the people that are married move into different houses. Then they have to go see a judge who asks them a bunch of questions, divides up all their stuff and then they pay a lot of money so they don't have to live together anymore."

"What if they have kids?"

"Well usually the mum and dad will share them. The children will spend a certain amount of time with one parent and then go to the other parent's house for a while," Molly answered.

"Oh," Gabriel said with a heavy sigh. "So if one kid belongs to the mum and one kid belongs to the dad, do they get to keep their own kid?"

"Well, it depends," Molly started.

"On what?"

"On which one runs the fastest," Sherlock joked.

Gabriel snickered. "Dad! That's not true."

"Not really, no."

"Why are you suddenly so interested?" Molly asked. "Are you afraid that your dad and me are going to get divorced? Because you know, that's pretty silly. Whenever we fight, we always end up laughing."

"I know. And it's not me. It's Katie. She says her mum and dad might get divorced. They don't like each other anymore, I guess."

"Well maybe not," Molly said, sliding her arm around the little boy and hugging him to her side. "People get divorced for lots of reasons. It just happens. Sometimes one of the people has a problem that the other can't deal with. It doesn't mean that they don't like or love one another anymore and it definitely doesn't mean that they don't love their children anymore."

"I guess," Gabriel said. "Katie's so sad, though. She's scared that she'll have to move back to America or that her mum will take her brother and sister and go back to America and leave her with her dad."

Molly looked puzzled. "Why would she do that?"

"Katie's mum isn't her real mum," Sherlock explained.

"Oh."

"Look, Gabriel," Molly began, "Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow and we can't control how other people react. All you can do—all Katie can do—is trust that her parents will do what is best for her. They love her and they will take care of her."

"But they fight all the time. They shout and throw things and she gets scared. She doesn't even want to go home from school anymore." Gabriel was starting to get agitated and his voice was beginning to waver. It seemed that for all of Sherlock's sociopathic tendencies, Gabriel had managed to make up for it in spades, often feeling too much.

"Gabriel," Sherlock said, pulling his child into his lap and staring down at him seriously. "Just calm down. You have to learn to care about people without taking all of their problems into yourself. Katie doesn't _know_ that her parents are going to get a divorce. She's jumped to a conclusion based on circumstantial evidence. Trust me, that's dangerous. It can lead you to completely the wrong answer. On the other hand, they very well might get divorced, but it won't be the end of her life. Whatever is going to happen will happen and there's not much that we can do about it and truthfully, it isn't really our business."

"But you nose around in other people's business all the time," Gabriel said. Molly snorted.

"And if I got involved with all those people's problems, I'd be a basket case. Helping someone doesn't necessarily mean that you have to fix their problem, Gabe. Sometimes their problems can't be fixed. The best you can do, or I can do, or Molly can do or any of us, is to be Katie's friend. Listen to her when she needs to talk, give her an extra cuddle and try to distract her from her worries."

Gabriel nodded and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Okay, Dad," Gabe sighed. "I'll try. But somebody needs to tell her mum and dad that they're being stupid."

**OoOoOo**

Molly giggled as she flipped through Scarlett's baby book, pointing out the pictures to the little girl snuggled in her lap. Sherlock hated pictures. He hated posing for them. He hated the fake, cheerful tone of the photographer as they tried to make you smile. He was almost like those obscure African tribes that were afraid that taking their picture would steal their soul. He'd once told Molly that in addition to always looking like an absolute git in photographs, he was also a little freaked out by the notion of freezing a moment in time. Photographs were another thing that Molly had forcibly inflicted upon them all until they just accepted it. She was constantly taking pictures of them. She wanted to be sure that every second of their adventures together were documented. Consequently, Scarlett's baby book was extensive.

"Who that, Mummy?" Scarlett asked, pointing at one of the pictures.

"That's your Uncle Mycroft and Gabriel," she replied. In the photograph, Mycroft looked miserable with Gabriel perched on his shoulders, holding an open umbrella over them.

"Bre very little," the little girl said.

"Indeed he was." She flipped the pages again and found a picture of Sherlock lying on the couch asleep with a tiny newborn Scarlett curled up on his chest. "Oh look, darling! Who is that?" She pointed to the picture and Scarlett giggled.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed. "He got baby."

"He did. You know, for the longest time, the only way you would sleep was on his chest like that."

"Why, Mummy?"

"I don't know, sweetie. But you would just cry and cry until he picked you up. I think you liked his voice."

Scarlett gasped as she gazed at the next page. "There's you, Mummy!" The photograph had been taken at Ambergris the summer before. Molly and Scarlett were sitting on a towel on the sand, both of them wearing near identical smiles as they embraced tightly. That had been such a nice day, Molly remembered. "Mummy and Scar-baby!"

"Yes it is, precious."

"You so pretty, Mummy," Scarlett sighed, giving Molly a big sloppy kiss.

"So are you, darling."

When Sherlock returned home that evening, Molly was still curled up on the couch, flipping through the photo album. "Hello, Mols," Sherlock said, flopping down on the couch beside her and brushing a kiss across her mouth. "All right?"

"Of course," she said.

"Where is everyone?"

"Gabriel and Katie went to the cinema with Mary, Izzy, Jenn and Archie. Mrs. Hudson is on a date and Scarlett is finishing her nap."

"Ah… blessed silence."

"Exactly. Where's John?"

"He had to go to the shops before going home, so I'd assume that's where he is."

Molly nodded, turning her attention back to the photo album in her lap. She turned the page to another picture of herself and Sherlock. This one showed just the two of them, one of the few that did. John had obviously taken the photo while the two of them were unawares. Molly had been extremely pregnant at the time. She was reclined on the couch, reading Modern Forensics. Sherlock lay on top of her. His eyes were closed and he was kissing the exposed, swollen baby belly. Molly felt tears stinging her eyes as she looked at the photograph. She missed that time in their lives and was finding that she missed Scarlett being a baby. "Do you remember this photograph?" she asked, shoving the album into Sherlock's lap.

He sighed. "Yes, that ridiculous picture that John took. I still can't believe he didn't delete it. He threatened to put it up on the blog."

Molly giggled. "I wish he would."

"Ugh… don't be ridiculous." He still didn't like to be thought of as human. Or sentimental in the least.

Molly closed the book and tossed it to the coffee table, then snuggled up to him. She wound her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. His scent was still breathtaking and she breathed him in until her lungs were tight. He was heading into his mind palace. She could tell because he was so silent. He kissed the crown of her head gently, but already he was practically gone, wandering through the hallways and rooms in his head. "Sherlock," she said, hoping to catch him before he became completely non-verbal.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?" he asked, his voice still faraway.

"Scarlett being a baby."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess. Why?"

"Well, I was just looking at these old pictures. She was such a sweet baby."

"She's still a sweet baby, isn't she?"

"Oh of course. She's the sweetest thing ever. Her and Gabriel both. She's just getting so big. She's practically a little kid now."

"And that's bad?"

"Oh of course not," Molly said, then sighed heavily. "I don't know what I mean. I just… they're my babies, Sherlock. And I see them getting bigger every day. I guess it just makes me a little nostalgic for a time when they needed me."

"They still need you, silly Mouse," he replied, clasping her hand and tracing absent little circles over the back with his thumb.

"Oh I know that. I can't explain this feeling—"

"And what are you feeling?"

She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to go on with this conversation. After all, she wasn't really sure what she was asking for anyway. It could just be a hormonal shift. "Like I want to have another baby."

Sherlock sat up so fast that Molly fell backward. "Wait. What?"

"I think I want to have another baby," she said again.

"Oh," he said, standing up and pushing his hands through his hair in that way he always did when he was nervous or hyperactive. "No. No, I don't think so, Molly."

She laughed. "You haven't even heard what I've said, yet."

"Trust me, Molly. Nothing you can say would make me want to change my mind."

"And why not? Don't you love having Gabriel and Scarlett?"

"Of course I do! You know I do, Molly… but…they're a stretch for… someone like me."

"Oh please," Molly groaned. "You're a brilliant dad."

"Hardly. I'm almost as childish as they are." He began to pace with that anxious, caged panther gait. His brain was about to overload. "And we've just gotten into a routine where I'm able to work and not feel like I'm going insane all the time."

"Don't be dramatic, Sherlock."

"I _am _dramatic." He turned back to Molly, staring at her a long time before speaking again. He was observing her. Trying to see how serious she was about this. "Look, Molly, I'm not saying no. I just think we should wait a while. Think about what this would mean."

"What would this mean? Do enlighten me."

"Well… first off, we'd have to leave Baker Street. The flat is simply too small for so many children."

"We could put Scarlett in the room with Gabe—"

"Oh _that_ would be well received. A boy and a girl sharing a room would be unfair to both. Especially after both have had their own room."

"Well, then put the new baby in the room with Scarlett."

Sherlock actually laughed out loud at the idea. "Do you know what that room was before it was a room for Gabriel? When John first moved in? It was a cupboard where Mrs. Hudson stored linens and winter clothes. Granted, it was a walk-in, but the room is still rather small. She made it up for Gabriel when we heard that he was coming to live here. It barely has enough room for a little bed and the wardrobe. Much less for a cot for a baby."

"We could make it work," Molly replied.

"You also seem to be forgetting all of the not-so-nice things about having a new baby. The crying, the sleepless nights, the midnight feedings, the nappies… Remember how ecstatic we were when Scarlett started using the toilet? Are you sure you want to start all that over again?"

Molly smiled and shook her head. "No. No I'm not. Like I said, Sherlock… It's just a feeling. Maybe it will go away."

He gave a slow exhale as if he were extremely relieved. "Good."

"But it is a very strong feeling."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm having a terrible day today, so I thought adding to this story might make me feel better. I certainly hope it gives you a smile!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabe, Scarlett, Katie and Isabel. And of course, Cat the dog.**

Molly hadn't said anymore about a possible addition to their brood, but Sherlock could tell it was still on her mind. They'd gone on a shopping trip to find some new clothes for Gabriel, who seemed to outgrow all of his clothes at once. Molly wandered away and they finally found her lurking in the baby section. She claimed she was looking for teething drops for Scarlett, but her wishful expression did not go unnoticed by Sherlock as her fingertips slid over the boxes of tiny nappies. Scarlett had evidently picked up on this vibe as well and she was not having it. In her own, devious little way, she thwarted any physical contact between her parents. If they sat together on the couch, she insisted on climbing up between them. If they kissed, she immediately wanted in on the action, insisting that both parents kiss her instead. She had also suffered a setback in her toilet training that always seemed to manifest itself late at night whenever Molly and Sherlock decided to make love. She would invariably come toddling into the room, sniffling and announcing that her bed was wet. This would lead to a half-hour of stripping down Scarlett's bed, washing her up, getting her into clean pajamas, remaking the bed and coaxing her back to sleep. Often Gabriel would even get up to see what was going on, which would then get Scarlett riled up again and the process of going back to sleep would be even longer. By the time these potty emergencies were over, both parents had lost interest and only wanted to sleep. And just when they thought the fun was over, they'd get up the next morning in a terrible mood that would last all day. The last time it happened, it was so bad that Greg Lestrade suggested that Molly take a coffeebreak so they could go shag in a broom closet and get it over with. While Sherlock agreed with his little girl's sentiment, the methodology was proving to be upsetting, to say the least. Once you start having sex on the regular, it's nearly impossible to go back.

"I can't take it anymore!" Sherlock exclaimed, his shouting waking Molly with a start. It was after three in the morning and he'd just come back from putting Scarlett down. "Every time, Molly!"

"What? What are you talking about?" she asked, her speech slurred with sleepiness. "What time is it?"

"3:12. Exactly one and one-half hour from when Scarlett barged in. Molly, I have to tell you. I've never wanted to hit our youngest, but tonight it was all I could do to refrain."

Molly sighed, sitting up and realizing that she probably wasn't going to be going back to sleep anytime soon. "She's just a baby, darling. And the pediatrician said that regression was normal, especially in girls."

"I'm not talking about her wetting the bed, Molly! Other than the complete inconvenience of it. Tonight, she flat out refused to go back to sleep. As in, she looked at me and said 'No, thank you, Daddy,' when I said she needed to go _back to sleep_. She asked if she could have a sip of water and despite the fact that's probably what caused the whole mess in the first place, I complied just to get her _back to sleep_. I went into the bath to get the water and when I came back she was out of bed and in Gabriel's room with Cat. Luckily, she didn't wake Gabriel up or I'd still be there!"

Molly watched as he threw himself around, angrily tossing his teeshirt into the chair by the window. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying not to giggle at his display. He was like a child whose toy had been taken away. "I'm sorry, love. Come back to bed. I'm sure I can rekindle your fire," she said.

He flopped on the bed dramatically, pulling the duvet over his pale shoulder. He looked just like Gabriel during one of his epic pouting sessions. It was too much and this time Molly did laugh. "No. I'll injure something vital if I'm interrupted without crossing the finish line again."

"Oh don't be a baby, Sherlock," Molly snickered.

He looked stung. "I'm not! You try routing all the blood in your body toward one particular organ and then having to reroute all of it back to where it started in the space of a few minutes! It hurts, Molly! And don't think it still isn't slightly uncomfortable even after an hour." He rolled over, punching his pillow and showing her his back.

She cuddled up behind him and slid her arm around his waist. "Sherlock… don't be grumpy," she whispered against the cuff of his ear. Her small hand, cool from the chill air was splayed across his belly. She lazily stroked the soft line of hair just under his navel. "I'm awake now."

He rolled over, grasping her wrist tightly and pinning it behind her. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he hissed.

Molly laughed. "What do you mean?"

"You're just trying to get me in a compromising position again so you can harvest my seed!"

She burst into laughter and when she saw his face, looking so serious, she thought she might die. "Harvest your seed?"

"Exactly," he snapped. "You want to have another baby and you've managed to conspire with our children to get me so incredibly frustrated that I'll impregnate you!"

Molly sat up, offended by his words. "Wait a minute, you're the one that was so keen! I fell asleep while you were putting Scarlett back to bed!"

"It's a scientific fact that the male's sperm count goes up the longer he goes without ejaculation! These carefully timed Scarlett attacks are devious means to germinate!"

"You're insane," she sighed. "Forget it. Keep your… _seed_."

"I will!"

"Good!"

"Fine!" Sherlock rolled back over, angrily.

"Just remember how you turned me down in a few hours when you're having a meaningful relationship with your right hand in the shower!" He glared over his shoulder, watching as she threw the covers aside and grabbed her dressing gown.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep in the bottom bunk with Cat!"

**OoOoOo**

"So… what do you think?" Sherlock sat with John on the bench in the park, his back ramrod straight and his jawline tense. He had finished relating the story of his fight with Molly and was more confused now than when he started.

"You're asking me for advice?" John tried to hide the smile. "The great Sherlock Holmes needs advice from little old me. I hope someone's writing this down."

"Shut up," Sherlock grumbled. "Just… you're better at this sort of thing than I am. Tell me what to do, because it's been two days and Molly won't even speak to me."

"Are you serious?"

"I would never joke about such a thing. She's been sleeping in Gabriel's room on the bottom bunk. Of course, she won't be doing that tonight since Katie's sleeping at our flat again." He shook his head, ruffling his fingers through his hair then pulling his coat tighter around him. "I don't know how to handle this. I admit that my argument may have been a little irrational the other night. I was very tired and very…"

"Frustrated?"

"Exactly." It suddenly occurred to Sherlock why he was so angry that night. It really had nothing to do with his sex life being upheaved by what he had dubbed 'Scarlett Attacks.' It had more to do with the fact that in the back of his mind, he felt like Molly was just waiting to pounce on him and get herself pregnant. "Just out of curiosity, has Mary said anything to you about wanting another baby?"

John shrugged and shook his head. "Not yet. I think she's pretty happy with just the one right now. Which suits me fine. Why do you ask?" John paused, and then the color drained from his cheeks. "Molly's not… she's not pregnant again is she?"

"No!" Sherlock answered a little too emphatically, then calmer. "But she wants to be."

John looked skeptical. "Did she actually tell you that?"

"Yes."

John nodded slowly. He was still, after two years, still trying to process Sherlock's almost contented domesticity. "Well, I guess it's not surprising. I mean, Molly never made any secret that she wanted a large family."

"No, but I'm just not… I mean, I love Gabe and Scarlett—you know that. But I feel like I've just gotten the hang of all this. And adding another child to the mix right now…" He sighed and let his shoulders droop. It was most unlike him. "It's bad enough that we have Katie Adams _all the time_ these days."

John looked out over the park to see Gabriel and Katie climbing the jungle gym across the way. Isabel and Scarlett sat in the sandbox several meters away, amazingly not fighting just yet. "Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. What's going on there?"

"You'll have to ask Molly for any details. Most of that got caught in the filter, but as far as I can tell, Katie's parents are in the midst of some kind of marital discord. They don't have the intelligence to shield their children from this and so Katie, the only one old enough to be bothered by it, doesn't want to go home. I can't say I blame her."

John seemed stunned. "How much time is she spending there?"

"She's been at Baker Street every weekend for the last month and most days after school until dark."

"Damn. I mean, I can sympathize, but it's a little much to ask you and Molly to take her in."

"Well she's not really any trouble. She's a sweet child, but things are getting a little cramped. And I think Gabriel's starting to get a bit jealous having to share his parents and everything else with another sibling. Which brings me back to my original point—what should I do about Molly?"

"Well I'm pretty sure that apologizing to her for the other night is in order."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously. But what about the baby thing?"

**OoOoOo**

Gabriel and Katie perched on top of the jungle gym, looking down at the park below. This was their favorite place. They felt so high above everyone else, like it was their own little world. It was warmish this afternoon and the breeze and sunshine felt good against their faces. "Gabriel?"

"Yeah, Katie?"

"My mum is moving in with my Gram next week. Thomas and Martha are going too, but at least they'll be in England. My dad says it's just for a few weeks, but I think he's just telling me that to make me feel better." Then, without warning, she burst into tears. Gabriel inched over to where she was and hugged her tightly, letting her cry against his shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Katie," he said, wishing that he had something more reassuring to say. "At least they won't be fighting all the time."

"I know," she sniffled. "But I'm going to miss them."

"Well, you'll still get to see them, won't you?"

"They're trying to work it out," she replied, sniffling and rubbing her eyes on the heel of her hands. "My dad has to fly for most of the week, so I'll probably have to stay with my Gram until he's home. But my mom says that means I'll probably have to change schools to one closer."

Gabriel gasped. He couldn't conceive of not seeing Katie every day at school. She wouldn't even live close enough for them to play in the park unless she was with her dad! "You can't change schools, Katie! Who's going to keep me from getting in trouble because I tell the teachers they're stupid? Who will eat my broccoli at lunch?"

Katie shrugged. "I'm sure somebody will eat your broccoli." Suddenly, she threw her arms around Gabriel and hugged him again, hanging on so tightly that he couldn't breathe properly. "I love you, Gabe!" she almost shouted, startling him. Then she took him completely by surprise, pressing a sloppy kiss right on his mouth.

**OoOoOo **

"I don't know, Sherlock. I agree with you that having another baby might be particularly stressful right now, but I can't tell you what to do. I'm sure that Molly is feeling herself getting a little older and she probably knows there aren't that many shopping days left til Christmas, as it were." Sherlock could feel his eyes rolling back in his head as John droned on and on about women, menstrual cycles and mid-life crises. "As a doctor she's well aware that the risk of certain disorders increases as the mother gets older, as does the risk of having twins."

For a moment, something caught Sherlock's eye and he sat up on the bench. "Oh dear Lord…" he sighed.

"Sherlock, are you listening to me? I mean, you asked for my opinion and now that I'm giving it to you—"

"Look," Sherlock interrupted John, pointing off in the direction of the playground.

"Look at what?" Finally, Sherlock grabbed John's head and turned it toward where Gabriel and Katie were sitting atop the jungle gym. "Oh my God… are they?" He squinted into the sunlight, trying to see better. "Are they kissing?"

"Yes."

"What do we do? I mean… they're nine."

"You're asking me?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, that's your kid doing the snogging."

They didn't have time to react, as Scarlett was on it way before they could construct an appropriate response. "Bre!" she squealed, getting to her feet with a little help from Isabel. "Bre kiss Katie!" Both toddlers began running toward the jungle gym as fast as their tiny little legs could carry them.

"She doesn't see the rail around the equipment," Sherlock said, getting up. "Scarlett! Izzy!" he shouted.

Both turned to look at toward Sherlock as he sprinted across the park toward them with John right behind. It was enough of a distraction and just before he could reach them, Scarlett tumbled over the edge of the plastic rail around the play area. She went down hard, her head connecting with the corner of the jungle gym. Isabel tumbled after her, the two looking like perfectly timed Dominoes.

Unlike Isabel, Scarlett didn't immediately start screaming. She looked dazed. By the time Sherlock reached her, Gabriel and Katie were on the ground, the former already trying to pick her up. "She hit her head, Dad," Gabriel explained. That was clear enough. A large bruise had already begun to form on her forehead, but the worst was the blood. Evidently in the fall, she'd bitten her lip hard and blood poured from the wound. As soon as Scarlett noticed that she was bleeding and saw the alarmed look of her father and brother, she began to scream. "John!" Sherlock called, for a split second forgetting that John had his own injured child to look at.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: So sorry this has taken me so long, kids. I promise I'll be updating this, 'Sandwiches' and "Bijoux" this week. My "real life" writing had to take center stage last week, so I didn't have as much time to write fun stuff as I'd like. Sadly, this chapter is a little shorter than most, but I hope you'll like it anyway. Thanks to everyone sticking it out! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett and Katie.**

This was most definitely not a part of being a parent that Sherlock enjoyed. The sitting in the A & E with a crying child waiting for the doctor part. Scarlett lay against his shoulder, sucking her thumb and sniffling as he held a clump of gauze against her still bleeding lip. He had managed to clean most of the blood from her face on the way over, but she still looked affright. He was not looking forward to Molly's reaction when she arrived. It had been bad enough talking to her on the phone. When he'd told her that Scarlett had taken a fall at the playground, she'd thrown her mobile down. That clatter echoed in his ear for a while after she'd gone. Any minute she'd come tearing into the trauma room, ready to breathe fire. Luckily, Scarlett had broken Isabel's fall and so the tiny Watson was fine. Mary had already come by and retrieved little Izzy and Katie Adams. She'd tried to take Gabriel as well, but the little boy insisted that he stay with his baby sister. John had agreed to stay with him, so no one kicked up much of a fuss.

"Daddy," Scarlett whined.

"Yes, Peaseblossom?"he answered, stroking her hair and taking care not to touch the angry bruise on her forehead.

"I hurt, Daddy," she said, pointing to her mouth.

"I know, sweetie. The doctor will make you feel better soon."

"Where Mummy?" she whimpered.

"She's on her way."

"Why she not here now?" Scarlett cried. "I want my mummy!" She looked around again, confused and sniffling. Finally, realizing that Molly was nowhere to be found and that she was utterly miserable, Scarlett threw herself against her father and wept against his shirt. It was probably the most pitiful sound Sherlock had ever heard and he sighed glumly. He honestly couldn't think of a thing to say that might make his child feel better. He was reminded of the time that Gabriel had broken his arm. At least then, Gabriel had been old enough to understand what was happening. Scarlett didn't have a clue. She only knew that she had fallen down and now her face hurt. His alarm had subsided somewhat since the fall. John assured him that the injury was most likely external. She was conscious the whole time and the swelling was on the outside.

"I know you do, darling. She's coming, I promise."

Scarlett pounded her tiny fist against his shoulder. "Make her faster, Daddy!" she exclaimed.

Before he could respond, he heard commotion in the next room just as Molly burst through the door, a nurse on her heels. "That's my baby in there!"

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said, trying to look as if nothing special was going on.

She ignored him and jerked Scarlett from his arms. "Oh my darling, Scarlett!" she exclaimed, hugging the child gently.

"I fall down, Mummy," Scarlett whined.

"I know, baby! You poor thing. Show Mummy where it hurts."

Scarlett pointed out all of her injuries: her bruised and lumpy forehead, her bloody lip, the heels of her hands that had been scraped up on the woodchips as she tried to catch herself. "I run and fall."

"She tripped over the… uhm…" Sherlock snapped his fingers, trying to call up the word with little success. Obviously the shock of Scarlett's fall had scrambled up his mind palace. "The thing… around the…" He drew the railing in the air, as if that might call it up. "Anyway, she hit her head on the jungle gym."

Molly didn't seem to notice what he was telling her and instead fussed over each of Scarlett's wounds, kissing all of them in turn then holding the child protectively on her lap, rocking her gently. "I'll stay in here with Scarlett, Sherlock. Why don't you go sit with Gabriel so that John can go home?"

"No," Scarlett whined. "Daddy stay."

"Gabriel will be—" Sherlock started.

"Daddy needs to make sure Gabriel gets something to eat, sweetie. We might be here a little while," Molly answered, throwing Sherlock a murderous glare.

He nodded and slid down from the examination table. Evidently she was angry with him for some reason. As he walked down the corridor to the waiting room, he thought back through the events of the previous day up to the present, wondering which of his actions or statements would cause such a response. Sure, they had been stand-offish since their tiff about having another baby. Molly had slept in Gabriel's room the last couple of nights, but she seemed unusually upset. It wasn't as if the child was in any real danger. Perhaps a stitch to Scarlett's lip and an icepack on her head. A few bandages, but nothing more severe than that.

He entered the waiting room to find Gabriel curled up in a chair beside John. "Dad! How is Scarlett?"

"She's fine. Just banged up a bit." He looked to John. "Thanks for sitting with him. How's Izzy?"

"She's good. Scarlett broke her fall, so she just has a scraped elbow and that's it. She didn't even hit her head."

"It's nice that my child could be of assistance," Sherlock grumbled, taking the seat on the other side of Gabriel. "Anyway, Molly banished me out here so you can go. I'm sure Mary will want you home."

John nodded and stood up, pulling his jacket around his shoulders. "I can take Gabe to our flat if you like."

"I want to stay," Gabriel said, looking to his father. "Dad, can't I stay here with you?"

Truth be told, Sherlock wanted Gabriel to stay. He needed an ally and thought that the boy's presence might curb any fights with Molly. "It's fine," he replied. "I don't think we'll be here much longer."

Sherlock and Gabriel sat in silence for the better part of twenty minutes. Sherlock clicked through his messages, answering a few and sighing in exasperation with others. Finally, Gabriel tugged on his sleeve, wordlessly asking him if he might play with the phone. Seeing as how there was nothing going on in the world, Sherlock passed it over. After several minutes, he couldn't take the constant click of the buttons and closed his hand over the mobile. "Stop." Gabriel huffed but handed it back.

"When are they going to be done?" he groused.

"I'm sure they're going as fast as they can," Sherlock sighed. "Since we're here all alone, what's going on with you and Katie?"

Gabriel froze, his eyes bulging. He had obviously been hoping that no one had seen he and Katie's little tableau of love. "Dad, she kissed me. I had nothing to do with it," he answered, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster and faster. "I was just sitting there and we were talking about her parents and she told me that she might have to move schools and then she said she loved me and didn't want to leave and she just kissed me! I couldn't stop her, Dad!"

Sherlock laughed. "Calm down. I'm not interrogating you. I'm just asking."

He seemed to malfunction for a minute as his thoughts caught up to his voice. "Oh. You aren't mad?"

"Angry, Gabriel. Mad implies insanity…"

He groaned. "Fine. Angry. You aren't angry?"

"Why would I be?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know."

"So…" Sherlock nudged. "What's going on?"

"She's just upset about her mum and dad I guess." Gabriel was suddenly very interested in his shoes. "Dad… it wasn't entirely unpleasant."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. He didn't want to laugh at the little boy, but it was not going to be easy to keep the giggles in check. "What do you mean?"

"Well… it was kind of weird. It wasn't like when Mum or Mary kisses me. Or Scarlett—who gives very squishy kisses."

"Indeed." It was true. Scarlett had not quite learned that a kiss was not opening your mouth and devouring the other person and licking their face.

"Her lips were kind of soft and… not really wet. She tasted like cherry lip stuff."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "Tasted? You didn't open your mouth did you?"

"Eew! No, Dad! Gross! I don't want her tongue in my mouth."

More cheek biting. "That's good."

"And then… my belly felt kind of weird. Like there were bees buzzing around in it. At first I thought I might be sick, but then… I kind of liked it." Gabriel sighed and sat back against the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did I do something wrong?"

Sherlock thought this over. He didn't want to give Gabriel permission to kiss Katie. After all, he's only nine. But he didn't want to make him think there was something wrong with it. Despite his own sociopathic sensibilities, Sherlock didn't want Gabriel to bury or mask feelings like he did. It was only sheer dumb luck that he hadn't ended up alone in the world. Which is what he'd always thought he'd wanted, but he knew now that it had been an error on his part. He didn't want Gabriel to be alone. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're right—she kissed you. And showing your friends that love them isn't wrong, but there's a time and place and nine years old probably isn't the right time."

"What if she does it again?"

"Remember what I told you about having every right to tell someone not to touch your body in a way that's inappropriate? That goes for friends too."

"But I don't want to hurt her feelings, Dad. She's my best friend!"

"Feel free to tell her that your dad told you that you aren't supposed to be kissing girls. There. Happy now?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I guess so." He started to say more, but Molly and Scarlett were at the door of the waiting room.

"Come on," Molly said, holding her free hand out to Gabriel.

**OoOoOo**

The diagnosis was just as John had predicted. An external head injury. Give the child some paracetamol, an ice pack every twenty minutes and watch her. Luckily, her split lip was easily fixed with a little peroxide and a clear bandage. By the time they got back to Baker Street, she was babbling and giggling at Gabriel. Mrs. Hudson came up and immediately began preparing dinner for them all, knowing that their evening had not been comfortable for anybody. Molly disappeared into the bedroom. Sherlock followed and stood in the doorway and watched as she undressed and slipped into her comfiest sweats.

"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" he asked when she didn't acknowledge him.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?" she asked, pulling her hair down from its ponytail and twisting it vigorously into a braid.

"Well, you can choose the topic. I mean, there's the fact that you haven't slept with me in three days. Or the fact that you were the ice queen to me in the A & E…"

"How could you let our child get hurt!"

"…or about why you're angry with me because Scarlett fell down."

"Were you wandering through your _mind palace _again and not paying attention? Or maybe your child not falling down is _another_ of those things that just happens!"

"Molly, it could have happened if I'd been standing right there. I was watching her, John was watching—even Gabriel. She fell over the railing around the playground. And she's two! Balance of probability says that she's going to fall down! That's why they call them toddlers!"

"What if she'd fallen someplace more dangerous?"

"Like where? The roof at Bart's? Stop being ridiculous. You're pissed off at me for something else that you think is irrational, so you've created this whole thing as an excuse to be angry!"

"I have not!"

"Oh really? Remember when Gabriel broke his arm? It was just like this only **_you_** were the one that wasn't watching closely enough, remember?"

"I was watching him!"

"And I was watching Scarlett! Which is why this just stupid, Molly!" Their voices had raised louder and louder until finally the entire house could hear them.

"Daddy, I have juice?" Sherlock looked down to see Scarlett standing at his feet holding her sippy cup up to him.

"Oh… ask your mother to get it as I'm apparently incapable!" he snarled, turning his back and rushing down the stairs, tearing his coat from the rack as he went.


End file.
